


Touch and Go

by bactaqueen



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars: New Jedi Order Era - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bactaqueen/pseuds/bactaqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Can't Beat 'Em...

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part One: If You Can't Beat 'Em...  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.  
 **Author's Note:** Special thanks to Xaverii Jade and Caitie. Without their input, this would be a lot less polished. And yes, some parts of this story were inspired by situations created by Mike Stackpole--and Aaron Allston--in the X-Wing books. Because if you think about it, who better to take cues from regarding pilot-to-pilot romance?

  
  
It was red. According to her rear sensor screen, the blip was gaining on her, and if Sparky's wail and her cockpit alarms were anything to trust, the blip had a lock on her. Jaina Solo gritted her teeth and gripped the flightstick too hard. The warning bells ringing in her ears grew more insistent, and lasers lit up her rear shields. Sparky commed her, wanting to know if she had a death wish.  
  
"All pilots do," she answered the droid dryly. "Why do you think we're so eager to do what we do?"  
  
She forced herself to relax--or, Forced herself to relax. Jaina loosened her hold on the stick, and took a few deep, calming breaths. Panicking wasn't going to help anything. She almost winced when another burst of laserfire sent her shields down to ninety percent. That wasn't good, but since letting the enemy close on her was part of her plan, it was an acceptable loss.  
  
Jaina jinked the X-wing around, but only enough to keep the enemy's shots soaring past her cockpit. That red blip came faster, and she was sure the pilot was diverting some shielding energy to speed. When it was close enough--when she hoped it was close enough--Jaina took her chance.  
  
She throttled the power back to her engines long enough to haul back on the stick and send the nose of the craft vertical. She kicked the engines back to full, and sent the snubfighter into a steep climb. Since this particular dogfight was taking place in the literal middle of nowhere, up and down were relative.  
  
The blip overshot her, but not by much; Jaina had known the pilot was too experienced to fall for child's play. That didn't mean she couldn't employ child's play as an element of surprise.  
  
She shoved the stick forward and feathered the rudders, sending the X-wing down into an almost dizzying--and by all appearances, out-of-control--tailspin. The blip had looped around, and was coming in at her from above. Her spin made her fighter nearly impossible to hit, and that was what she'd been counting on.  
  
What she'd also been relying on was the unpredictability of her intentional spin. With a flick of a rudder and a tug on the stick, she was facing the blip head-on.  
  
The image of the TIE Interceptor that filled her viewport was almost intimidating. Everything it stood for was a part of her, and something her parents had fought so hard to stop.  
  
Jaina's viewport suddenly darkened to near opacity to protect her eyes as the squint's lasers battered her shields. She was forced to fly by instrument alone. A tiny red blip on her forward sensor screen really wasn't that impressive at all.  
  
Despite its narrow profile, logic--and her targeting computer--said the Interceptor was nearly impossible to miss at this range. She fired, and each of her dual-linked shots hit their mark.  
  
If it had been a normal squint, her first shots would have sheared the ball cockpit from the solar panels, and her next shots would have shredded that cockpit. But this wasn't your average Interceptor. While it gave nothing to the X-wing in terms of speed, the fighter still had abandoned something of swiftness for the sake of shielding. The shields absorbed all of her damage, and the squint continued to inflict damage of its own.  
  
It was a game of chicken, and Jaina blinked first. It wasn't something she was proud of, but at the moment, pride didn't really have much to do with anything.  
  
She just wanted to stay alive.  
  
Jaina nudged the ship to port, and shot by the Interceptor with mere centimeters to spare.  
  
"Damage report!" she demanded. After a brief hesitation, Sparky warbled off the summary she wanted. There was no serious damage, and her shields were still functional.  
  
Jaina kicked the ship up in its starboard S-foils, and turned the X-wing around, expecting to find the squint lining itself up for another head-to-head. "My lasers should have drained something from his shields," she muttered to herself as she armed two proton torpedoes.  
  
Jaina was almost beginning to believe it was her lucky day. As she leveled out, the squint dropped right into her sights, and her primary weapons targeting system started screaming that she had a target lock. She couldn't kill the smile that spread across her face.  
  
She squeezed the trigger under her finger, and a spray of red energy bolts danced across the squint's shields as she waited for her secondary weapons to go green and signify a lock. When the tone finally sounded steady, she thumbed off the two torpedoes she'd armed, and watched as the blue ion tails streaked toward their target.  
  
It had seemed like a sure kill.  
  
She was going to have to learn that appearances could be deceiving.  
  
The first torpedo overshot its mark. She was disappointed, but that was why she'd shot two to begin with.  
  
The second torp detonated a meter from the squint, momentarily blinding her as some of the squint went with it.  
  
When the light dissipated, the Interceptor was still functioning. Jaina screamed in frustration and throttled forward.  
  
Still swearing, and not bothering to wait for laser locks, she followed the squint spiral for spiral, loop for loop, and climb for climb, firing when she thought she could get close enough and hoping--praying--for another torpedo lock. The reticle on her heads-up-display stayed red, and the low tone remained rhythmic.  
  
She was never going to get a chance like that again.  
  
Abruptly, the Interceptor slowed. Wary, Jaina slowed her own speed, but kept it high enough to continue to gain on the squint. The pilot might try to use her earlier tactic against her, and she wasn't about to suffer that embarrassment. Her quarry continued to slow his speed, and now the evasive action was minimal. Minimal, but enough to keep her from getting a solid torpedo lock. She spared a glance to check her weapons status, and Sparky beeped a comment.  
  
"I've wasted four already," she answered, punching her thigh in frustration. "Sithspit, he's hard to kill."  
  
Sparky warbled a rueful agreement.  
  
Jaina continued to fire her primary weapons, spraying the obviously damaged rear shields with red lasers, and waited for the other pilot's trick.  
  
It came as a warning first, tickling her danger sense, and Jaina reacted almost before the other ship moved. She wasn't fast enough.  
  
The squint twisted up and away; it was obvious that the pilot wasn't afraid of using his ship's superior acceleration capabilities. Faster than even a Jedi could counter, the Interceptor was behind the X-wing, closing the distance rapidly. Firing with more intensity than it had before, the squint angled in for the kill.  
  
She jinked and juked, and tried to evade the fierce barrage, to no avail. The lasers were chewing up her shields. For one millisecond, she thought to panic.  
  
Then her shields were gone, and the squint's shots were eating through her engines, to her cockpit. System failure sirens wailed, Sparky whined, and over it all, a calm female voice kept repeating, "Ejection. Ejection."  
  
This time, the ball of light was closer. Silence abruptly replaced the racket.  
  
The screens around her went blank, and the cockpit canopy popped open. To replace the stink of her workout, recirculated--but cool--ship's air rushed in. Jaina groaned, and slumped back in her seat.  
  
He'd killed her again. Of course. No surprise in that. Colonel Fel was not going to meet his end at the weapons of a Rogue. So why, time after time, did she insist on trying?  
  
Because somewhere inside her lived an optimist. That's why.  
  
Sighing, Jaina unstrapped her crash webbing. Shaking her head, she climbed out of her simulator cockpit. It didn't matter how well she flew; he flew better. It didn't matter how unconventional her tactics were; he adjusted.  
  
She supposed that was why he commanded his own squadron. That was why he was already a colonel.  
  
"I'm impressed, Lieutenant."  
  
Jaina looked up to find the pilot already outside of his own simulator, leaning against the hull in a posture that looked entirely too forced. He offered a small smile. "I do believe you're improving."  
  
Colonel Jagged Fel was not an old man. Nor, she mused, was he unattractive. Only a few centimeters above average height--taller than most successful fighterpilots--Jag Fel's most conspicuous marking was the scar that ran from his right eyebrow back into his hair. A lock of pure white hair traced the line of that scar, and contrasted sharply with the severe black that surrounded it. And his most intriguing features, in Jaina's opinion, were his eyes.  
  
"Well, I'm not getting worse, Colonel."  
  
Jag shook his head. "You're not," he agreed. "You brought down my shields this time."  
  
"You sound surprised," she remarked, eyebrow raised.  
  
He hesitated, and Jaina would have laughed at the brief, pained expression that claimed his features if she didn't believe she'd imagined it.  
  
"I'm sorry," he said at last, and inclined his head. "I didn't mean to."  
  
She quirked a half-smile at him, and sensed that he truly hadn't meant for his words to be anything but compliments on her improvement. His obvious discomfort was something Solo genetics wouldn't let her leave be.  
  
"So you _are_ surprised, you just didn't mean to let me know. Is that right?"  
  
It took Jag a moment to realize she was teasing him. The young colonel relaxed visibly.  
  
"That's right," he agreed.  
  
She chuckled. "That's what I thought."  
  
Jaina turned to let Sparky out of the droid slot in the simulator. X-wing sims could fake the astromechs, of course, but most pilots preferred to have their own droids plugged in behind them. It made the scenario more realistic.  
  
Once Sparky was safely on deck, she turned back to face Fel, and caught his faraway look. She raised a curious eyebrow at that, but left it. He'd said once the Chiss weren't above a flight of fancy or two; maybe he wasn't above his own daydreams.  
  
"It's late," she said, glancing at the dome-topped astromech. "The Rogues have an early briefing tomorrow. Thanks for the run."  
  
Jag was silent longer than he needed to be, and it seemed to Jaina that he almost had to shake himself back to the present. "You're welcome," he said. She felt like there was more he wanted to say, but he stopped himself.  
  
"Must be nice to know everything," she sighed, and started for the exit. "Force knows you don't need the practice."  
  
"I need the ego boost, actually."  
  
Jaina rolled her eyes. "Pilots," she groaned, exasperated. Then she shot a small smile in his direction, to give him something more enigmatic than he was used to seeing from her. "Good night, Colonel."  
  
"Good night, Lieutenant."  
  
Jaina had gotten all the way to the threshold, and Sparky got all the way to the corridor, when she paused and gave serious consideration to the proposition forming in her mind. Slowly, she turned back to face Jag, and found him steps away from the trainer he'd used.  
  
There were no clawcraft sims in this room, but he'd been willing enough to fly one of the squints. Jaina hadn't argued, and had hoped that his unfamiliarity with the new ship would give her a much-needed edge.  
  
It hadn't. As it turned out, the first thing the Chiss commander had ever flown had been a squint. In fact, it had been his personal fighter of choice until presented with the clawcraft squadron. Fel had been a certified ace before his fifteenth birthday, and every one of those kills had come while he was flying one of the Empire's shieldless wonders.  
  
She regarded him thoughtfully. No longer leaning against a sim, feigning ease, he looked far more comfortable. "Your parents are Corellian, aren't they?" she asked.  
  
Jag nodded once. "They are. They haven't been home in a long time, though," he added, quietly, and it seemed to Jaina that his tone was one of resignation. As if he felt something similar, as if... he missed his home?  
  
A lance of pain stabbed her own heart, and Jaina was tempted to reach for her family through the Force. She didn't, though; she had her reasons.  
  
Jaina shook her head to clear it. "I've got nothing against friendly competition," she began. She didn't look at him--couldn't risk meeting that pale green gaze and again losing her concentration--but turned her attention to the simulator closest to her. "In fact, I like it. What I don't like, Colonel, and I know many of my comrades don't appreciate either, is the feeling that you and your people are dismissing us because we can't beat you in the sims."  
  
She looked up then, and Jag saw a part of Jaina Solo she could only have inherited from her mother. Those brandy brown eyes had him fixed with an unforgiving stare. His options didn't number many.  
  
"You're a difficult kill, Lieutenant," he said. Isn't that what he'd told her the first time they'd met?  
  
Jaina snorted derisively.  
  
"You mean that as a compliment, and I'm almost flattered." She smiled wryly. "You're damn near impossible to kill. So are your people."  
  
If you don't know what the enemy is planning, going along with the enemy's plan is stupid. Jagged Fel was not stupid. One did not make colonel and gain control of his own squadron before his twentieth birthday by being stupid. For his life, though, he could not figure out what she was driving at.  
  
"My uncle has vaped me," he reminded her, slowly, taking the time to study her, trying to gain a hint of her intentions through body language. "So have Colonels Celchu and Darklighter." For the first time, Jag wished he were Force-sensitive. He wanted to read her mind.  
  
"No one can beat Wedge Antilles at his own game, not even his nephew." She shook her head lightly. "No, Fel, I don't want your compliments. I want a bet. I know any Corellian worth his flight certification can't turn down a bet."  
  
Jag was so relieved when she just came out and told him what she wanted that he offered his own smile. "Han Solo is also Corellian," he pointed out.  
  
Jaina flashed him the female version of the famous lopsided Solo grin. "What can I say? I'm a product of my heredity."  
  
"What do you propose then, Solo?"  
  
"Give me a week. If I can kill you once, you and the rest of the Spikes spend some quality downtime with the Rogues. If I can't--" Jaina shrugged. "My ego will continue to suffer at your hands until I get good enough."  
  
He considered her carefully for what he judged to be a sufficient amount of time as he pretended to think about her offer. He liked the idea of spending his time off-duty somewhere besides the mess hall or his digs; he liked even more the concept of spending it with her. He wasn't sure his people would care for it, but Jaina was right about being dismissed for dying. No matter how hard she was to kill, she could still be killed, and his people seemed to have forgotten that Rogue Squadron and anyone good enough to be in it had to be a pilot beyond superior, and therefore, their equals. If the Chiss wanted to keep up relations with the New Republic, it had to start with Spike Squadron.  
  
"That's a win-win situation for me, Lieutenant," he noted.  
  
Jaina's smile was tight. "Because, of course, you're such a sociable flyboy," she said, her voice wry.  
  
For the first time in a long time, Jag Fel laughed. It felt good, too, and something vague skimmed along the edge of his memory. Something he felt as if he'd forgotten, but should remember... He let it go, knowing it would only annoy him to try and remember. He gave Jaina his most genuine smile.  
  
"You've got a lock on me," he said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "All right. You have the week to vape me. Do it, and Spike Squadron will be at the next sabacc game. Don't, and I'll _personally_ share the secrets of success."  
  
"Done." Jaina took his offered hand. Then, "There are secrets?"  


	2. Gyndine

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Two: Gyndine  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.

  
  
Warning sirens wailed, shocking Jaina out of a dreamless sleep and nearly out of her rack and onto the deck. Little more than an arm's reach away, her bunkmate and wingmate was as startled as she was. It took a moment for groggy minds to grasp the meaning of the noise, and no longer after that to locate the voice amid the rhythmic shrieking, and discern the message.  
  
"Pilots to ships," it repeated, over and over again, in the same calm female voice.  
  
All at once, bodies moved. Blankets were tossed away to land atop footlockers, and clothes were located as legs were swung over the sides of the bunks. Legs were shoved into flightsuits, and feet were encased in standard-issue black boots. Knees and elbows collided as women sprang up, pushing arms into the sleeves of garish orange flightsuits. Curses were uttered. Someone's hand slapped the panel to open the hatch, and both pilots were scrambling into the corridor, sealing flightsuits as boots pounded the deck to propel them toward the turbolifts and, ultimately, the main belly hangar.  
  
Even at a dead run through the sterile corridors of the _Ralroost_ , they weren't beating anyone; in fact, since all Rogue lieutenants and flight officers slept on the same level, eight orange-clad pilots shared a lift, and eight no-longer-groggy flyers spilled into the main bay.  
  
Their superior officers were already there, Colonel Darklighter sealing his own flightsuit with one hand and in the other holding a datapad. The majors were listening to him as he spoke, and Captain Nevil was reading his own datapad. He looked up, and nudged Gavin, and as soon as the Rogues skidded to a stop, the briefing began.  
  
"All of you are here, he began, with a quick nod, and looking grim. "And quickly. That's good. Here's the deal." He tapped his datapad, and had to raise his voice to be heard over the launching fighters. "The fleet showed up a little earlier than we expected. The bridge says they slipped in without a trace, and they've already begun bombarding the planet. What we have is a situation like Dubrillion, but we expected that. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to lay our ambush. Therefore, the battle plan is revised: cover the refugees, stall the fleet, protect your wingmate. We don't have time for questions people."  
  
They were dismissed.  
  
Jaina hauled herself up the waiting ladder to her own cockpit, and signaled her thanks to the mechanic disengaging the fuel hose from her fighter. She scooped up her gloves and helmet, dropped into the cushioned ejection seat, and began flipping the switches to initiate a condensed start-up even before she landed. She yanked on the flak vest, the life support monitor, helmet, and gloves even as Sparky kicked the repulsors to life. As the canopy began its slow descent, Jaina looked up, and found Spike Lead across the hangar, his own canopy closing. Jaina froze when Jag made eye contact. He nodded once, and then both canopies were closed, and the darkness of space beyond the magnetic containment field filled her view. She shrugged off the chill, and wrapped a hand around the flightstick. She'd wonder about Jag Fel and her reactions to him later; right now, she had a mission to fly, and innocents to protect.  
  
Jaina dropped in up and to the left of Rogue Twelve as the squadron formed up. Along an established perimeter, the rest of the fleet's starfighters lined up, ready to meet the enemy. Between the first line of defense and the maneuvering capital ships lurked the mid-sized gunboats, the frigates, and the med-evac units.  
  
Her forward scope lit up with a cloud of red, and then slowly, as they came closer, the blips broke apart. The coralskippers had been deployed. A burst of static filled her cockpit, and then her commander's voice made itself clear.  
  
"Break by pairs, fire at will, and may the Force be with you all."  
  
The battle for Gyndine had begun.  
  
Sparky made an observation, and Jaina tore her attention away from her target long enough to see that her droid was right. She keyed her comm.  
  
"Enemy flight inbound, vectoring for the latest refugee ship. Twelve, are you free?"  
  
Jaina stuttered her own laserfire, letting the skip's dovin basal eat up her shots. She matched her speed to the enemy's, and waited... there. A quick quad burst of lasers, and one of her shots was eaten; the other three shredded the seed-shaped vessel from aft to stern. Jaina pulled back on her stick.  
  
"Almost..." Her wingmate's voice came strained, and Jaina wondered if Xada had remembered to dial up her inertial compensator. The Coruscant native currently occupied with the wingmate of the skip Jaina had just killed had a habit of dialing her comp down past ninety percent. Colonel Darklighter had made it an order that she bring it at least to ninety-one. He didn't want his newest pilot to black out in the middle of battle.  
  
Xada's mark exploded spectacularly, and Rogue Twelve's X-wing joined Jaina's.  
  
"Shall we?" Jaina asked.  
  
Xada's grin was evident even over the garbled, sub-space comm. "Let's."  
  
Rogue Twelve took the lead, angling in for the six Yuuzhan Vong coralskippers harrying a light freighter, loaded down with approximately a hundred Gyndine refugees. The pilot was doing his best to avoid the magma missiles and plasma jets; the living weapons were hitting the freighter, though, and even the weak dovin basals the small fighters used for protection and propulsion were enough to tug at the larger ship's shields.  
  
Red bursts of laser energy--the freighter's defense--were being sucked in by the minuscule black holes.  
  
"Save your torps," Jaina reminded her wing. A double-click confirmed her memo.  
  
Xada throttled forward, ahead of Jaina, lasers blazing, and doing a fine job of creating a diversion. Rogue Twelve was good at that. Jaina followed more discreetly. Surely she showed up on the radar, but Xada's show would distract them long enough for Jaina to get a kill... And bring the odds down from three-to-one.  
  
Not that three-to-one odds were bad. After all, she was a Rogue, and Rogue Squadron appreciated odds like that. It meant that it wasn't five-to-one, or twelve-to-one.  
  
 _Odds are for people who can't take the heat._ Her dual-linked shots tore through the skip she was aiming for before it registered her approach. Xada had already gotten one, as well; now, it was two-to-one, and the freighter was a little bit closer to the jump point.  
  
"Sticks, break port! Mark!"  
  
Without thinking, Jaina reacted, yanking her stick to the left and flooring the rudder. A plasma bolt cruised by, to be engulfed by the dovin basal off the starboard side of the skip Jaina had been pursuing.  
  
"Thanks, Twelve."  
  
"No problem."  
  
Once again, Xada's X-wing shot past, chasing down the skip, pouring weak lasers into its dovin basal, and waiting to ram her fist down its throat.  
  
Jaina looped around to get back on the tail of her target, and someone swore over the comm.  
  
"Emperor's black bones!"  
  
There, too close to the planet to have come from hyperspace, hung what could only be described as a destroyer. As big as an ImpStar Deuce, according to the readings, with enough weapons to rival the capital warship. Jaina's sensors started screaming; the ship had just opened up a rather large black hole.  
  
Sparky let out a low moan. The Vong ship angled for the planet, and the skips started to fall back, taking potshots at the evacuation ships as they passed.  
  
"Colonel--?" Jaina began.  
  
Gavin's voice was forbidding. "New orders, Rogues. We're retreating. There's another one of those things behind Gyndine's moon. We're covering the refugees and the retraction of the short-range fighters. Once they're aboard, the fleet will jump. We're to stay for two minutes, cover our own retreat, and then jump to the rendezvous. Gyndine is lost."  
  
 _Gyndine is lost._ As Jaina double-clicked her comm to confirm their orders, her heart sank. They were losing planet after planet to the Vong and their unanticipated tactics.  
  
And this one was just a short hop away from Corellia. They were going to lose the Run.  
  
The Vong fighters were no longer engaging the New Republic forces; the fleeing ships were no longer being hassled. Still, orders were orders; Rogue Squadron covered the retreat and retrieval, and Spike Squadron did the same. They were helpless to watch as the Vong ship began drawing Gyndine closer and closer. Somewhere nearer the planet than the X-wings or clawcraft, Ace's A-wings were hauling ass back to the fleet. They'd managed to take out one of the corvette-sized cruisers at the edge of the Vong fleet. Not a devastating blow, but a blow.  
  
"Jumping now," came the announcement from the _Ralroost_ 's nav officer. Rogue, Spike, and Ace squadrons began their retreat in earnest, heading back for the jump point. The blue dots that indicated friendly ships vanished; in her viewport, she saw the Star Destroyers, the battle cruisers, the frigates, and the four corvettes disappear.  
  
Jaina fell in behind Rogue Ten, and saw on her aft sensor board that Xada slid into the wingmate position, lower and to Jaina's port. She kept an eye on the long range surveillance, for any hint of pursuit. There was none.  
  
Finally, the tone sounded for hyperspace, and she pulled the lever. The stars elongated, spun, and before her stretched the tunnel of hyperspace. The rendezvous point was dead ahead, and Gyndine was dead behind.  
  
It was a short jump, but Jaina had time to sink back into her ejection seat and breathe. She also had time to think. It didn't do much for pilot morale--at least for her own--to know that every battleplan had the retreat. For each system visited, for each engagement, fallback coordinates were dumped into their astromechs. It seemed a defeatist attitude, even if it was realist. Realism had kept them alive so far, but it was still there, lurking at the back of her mind: we can't save this planet or these people, and we know that. That's why we've got a contingency.  
  
Always the contingency.  
  
Jaina sighed. She still loved flying. She didn't think there was anything in the galaxy--or beyond, for that matter--that could diminish her love of combat flying. The thrill was just too great. And she liked even more flying for Rogue Squadron. She liked that she was something more than just a Jedi Knight, just a Solo, just a girl.  
  
But she was getting tired.  
  
Or maybe... Maybe it was just the lack of sleep. Jaina sat up straight, and nodded. That was it. Lack of sleep. Twelve hours ought to cure this weary frame of mind.  
  
Besides, she couldn't be tired. She still had a bet to win.  
  
The tone sounded, and the one-minute-to-realspace countdown started on her HUD. Jaina rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension. She had to stop thinking so negatively.  
  
Those planners might be defeatist, but she wasn't. She was, after all, a Jedi Knight and a Solo. _I don't believe in defeatism._  
  
The swirl of hyperspace turned itself back into a starfield, with huge shadows blocking the light of some constellations.  
  
All around her, Rogue Squadron's X-wings reverted to realspace. Off to port, the Chiss clawcraft of Spike Squadron were holding their course toward the _Ralroost_ , and to starboard, even Ace's ships looked relieved.  
  
"Hey, Rogues, how does sleep sound?"  
  
Major Alinn Varth answered before any of the younger pilots had a smart remark. "Like heaven."  
  
The whine of her engines powering down was a welcome sound. Jaina tugged her helmet off, and left it hanging on the flightstick in front of her. Her gloves she left on the targeting computer as she untangled herself from her crashwebbing. Colonel Darklighter had promised sleep, and she wasn't about to miss out on any of it.  
  
She didn't wait for the mechanic to roll a ladder her way. They had more important things to do than help some Rogue out of her fighter. Jaina vaulted over the side, and landed smoothly. She shook her head, tossing her sweat-soaked hair out of her face, and made a beeline for the main exit.  
  
"Lieutenant."  
  
The clipped word stopped her, and the sound of boot heels against the deck made her turn around. Even as she did, she knew who it was. She offered a tight smile.  
  
"Colonel."  
  
Jag came to a halt in front of her. Jaina couldn't help but notice that he didn't look as if he'd just spent three hours confined to very small quarters. She wondered if anything ruffled him.  
  
"Good flying today," he said simply, meeting her gaze. "And congratulations on your kills. Four?"  
  
"That's right. Congratulations to you, too." Jaina glanced over at the clawcraft his people flew, and didn't find another Spike in the hangar. They were fast. "How many did you get?"  
  
She saw his wince, and for an instant, wondered at that. Then his mask of self-possession was back.  
  
"Six," he said.  
  
Jaina grinned. "Always gotta outdo me, don't you, flyboy?"  
  
Jag's smile was small, but evident. "That's right."  
  
"You can't win every time, Colonel."  
  
"Yes, I can."  
  
Jaina tapped a fist to his chest. "We'll see."  
  
With that, she turned, and exited the hangar.  
  
She didn't see that he simply stood there staring after her for a few seconds, and she certainly didn't see the easy smile that inched its way onto his face.  
  
Ah, the things you miss when your back is turned.  


	3. Those Magnificent Flying Machines

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Three: Those Magnificent Flying Machines  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.

 

  
The officer's cafeteria aboard the _Ralroost_ was like any other officer's cafeteria aboard any other New Republic warship. The sometimes garish--always recognizable--cliques of uniforms that denoted the areas of naval service were scattered in clumps throughout the chamber.  
  
Jaina sat alone at a table in one of the far corners of the dining hall, aware of the fact that her orange flightsuit was virtually impossible to ignore, and let her eyes rove about the place one more time. At this hour, most of the officers in the hall were the pilots who'd been involved at Gyndine, here for their first meal of the day, and passing time before their commanders called them for debriefing.  
  
The Chiss, she noticed--and their leader--were conspicuously absent.  
  
She was willing to bet money that Spike Squadron had already had their debriefing, and had moved on to analyzing data compiled from the engagement. That is, if they hadn't already had the new simulations loaded into their private sims and were currently reflying the mission to see where the mission had gone wrong.  
  
She smiled a little, entertaining the idea that the Spikes didn't sleep--didn't need sleep. That they merely plugged in to recharge, and then went back to flying and killing.  
  
"There is no possible way you can be happy about anything at this ungodly hour."  
  
Jaina looked up, into the ebony-skinned face of her wingmate. She didn't have to look far. Xada Rostin was not a tall woman. She was well below the average height for a female human. In fact, Jaina had wondered on more than one occasion if Xada could actually reach the etheric rudders. Not that she'd even dream of voicing that suspicion to the Coruscant native; rumor had it that Xada had received hand-to-hand training from a Nelprin. Xada was also one of the few female pilots who kept her hair in a strict buzz-cut.  
  
"It's thirteen hundred, Xade," Jaina remarked. Her wingmate groaned, and dropped her tray to the table and her body into the chair.  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
Xada leaned across the table and seized Jaina's wrist, twisting it to read the display on the oversized chrono she'd taken from Han Solo. Jaina considered it a good luck charm. Xada whistled.  
  
"Sithspawn."  
  
Jaina shook her friend off, and shook her head. No one would ever accuse Rogue Twelve of being mature, or indeed, even serious.  
  
"We have a briefing in forty-five minutes," she said, and ate a spoonful of the stew that was the midday meal, hoping Xada would follow suit. "At least the food's edible." That was a nice change.  
  
"I think these cooks can only work on adrenaline," Xada muttered, downing another mouthful of lunch. "The meals are always better after someone dies."  
  
No one would ever accuse her of being tactful, either.  
  
Jaina's response was a non-committal noise in Xada's direction.  
  
Relative silence passed between the two young women as they concentrated on their meals. Xada left Jaina alone to her thoughts mostly because, Jaina suspected, Xada had thoughts of her own. Rogue Twelve tended not to fill silence with meaningless prattle, and Jaina appreciated that.  
  
The Rogues had made it out alive, which was a rare thing in full-scale engagements like Gyndine, and Jaina knew they wouldn't be so lucky a second time. As they sat there, eating, preparing for their debriefing, the fleet and the refugees they were escorting were hurtling through hyperspace at just past lightspeed, toward Tynna, hoping to arrive well before the Yuuzhan Vong fleet and lay the ambush meant for Gyndine there. They were going to try again.  
  
And Jaina couldn't shake the gut feeling that they were going to lose again.  
  
A commotion off to Jaina's left stirred her from her disconcerting thoughts, and she turned at the same time Xada did. The six blue-clad Ace pilots at that table were rising from their seats and gathering their mess. A few of them started off toward the exit, while the others made a pit stop at the Rogues' table.  
  
"Good going at Gyndine, Sticks," one of the lieutenants said, smiling. "Heard you got four."  
  
Jaina shrugged. "You guys did the hard work. Requisitions is trying to scrounge up enough paint to put corvette kills on your cockpits."  
  
The sandy-haired lieutenant grinned. "It was a beautiful explosion."  
  
He left it at that.  
  
Xada stared dubiously after the pilot.  
  
"They're desperate," she said, finally.  
  
Jaina shot her a curious look. "What?"  
  
"When the A-wing jockeys start congratulating X-wing jockeys," Xada began, gesturing after the retreating blue forms with her spoon, "you know the isolation's getting to them." The fighterpilot shook her head, and gave Jaina a look that was almost accusing. "Four?" she demanded, her tone to match.  
  
Jaina found herself shrugging again. "It's no big deal. You got three," she pointed out. Xada rolled her eyes.  
  
"It's no big deal that you're averaging more kills per engagement than our commanding officer. You know that the greenie board says you're at the top of our squadron, and we know you're beating those Aces." Xada looked thoughtful for a moment, then added, "Actually, the only person you aren't beating is the infamous Colonel Fel."  
  
"I'm beginning to believe no one can beat Fel," Jaina grumbled, despite herself.  
  
"I don't know. He looks pretty human to me."  
  
"He doesn't sleep," Jaina said, absurdly, and mostly to herself, but Xada heard.  
  
"He what?"  
  
Jaina shook her head. "Never mind. He's just a hard kill," she added, for her friend's benefit.  
  
Xada winced. "Don't I know it? I didn't even have a chance in that last sim. I had this skip in my sights and then next thing I know- BAM!" She clapped her hands to emphasize her point. "Magma missle up the engines."  
  
"Came out of nowhere, didn't he?"  
  
"Didn't even see him on my scopes." Xada took a long moment to study her wingmate. "All right, what is it?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Don't give me that 'huh,'" she said. "You're sympathizing with me. Here's where you tell me, 'Well, Xade, that wouldn't happen if you were a half-decent pilot.'" Xada raised a comically skeptical eyebrow. "The logs say you've been spending an awful lot of time in the sims."  
  
"If your brain was half as big as your mouth, you would, too," Jaina responded, doing her best not to squirm under Xada's scrutiny.  
  
"Yeah, but it seems the colonel's been spending some obviously unneeded time in the sims, too."  
  
Jaina tried not to answer. She wanted her wingmate to come to her own conclusions.  
  
"You've been getting better," Xada remarked, around a mouthful of stew. Jaina knew she was in trouble when Xade started to sound casual, conversational.  
  
"We're all getting better. That's what sims are for."  
  
"Yes, but, the logs claim that you've taken out his shields twice, and disabled his inertial compensator once. I'm wondering why you didn't finish him off while he was bouncing around inside that squint."  
  
Jaina groaned. "Because he has a very high tolerance for pain," she said.  
  
Xada nearly choked on her stew. "You're kidding me. He was pulling six gees and he still killed you?"  
  
Jaina looked down, into the murk of her own cooling meal. She just suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. What had kept her going was sheer, stubborn pride; she knew that. She also she knew she was getting better, and in time, sure, she could be as good as he was. She needed time though, and she'd been the one to set the deadline at a week.  
  
It was supposed to have been in fun, she thought, but now it's serious. She was getting a tickling sensation at the back of her neck, through the Force, that seemed to say this was more than an attempt to get the eighteen-year-old colonel to act his age.  
  
"You know he's just... lethal, Xade. He comes out of nowhere, he pulls amazing tricks."  
  
"Must be all that Imperial training," Xada remarked, and it occurred to Jaina that her wingmate was patronizing her. "And it probably doesn't help that his dad is Baron Soontir Fel, and his uncle is Wedge Antilles--or did you forget that Baron Fel's the only Rogue to even skim General Antilles's marks?"  
  
"Colonel Darklighter's getting there," Jaina pointed out.  
  
Xada snorted. "Yeah, and so are you. My point is, it's in his blood. If he has blood," she added, as an afterthought.  
  
Jaina had heard the scuttlebutt going around among the New Republic pilots. The rumors regarding Colonel Fel and his Chiss squadron were sometimes funny, sometimes insulting, and always whispered.  
  
"He's got blood," Jaina replied, smiling a little. "Corellian blood."  
  
"Oh?" Xada's interest was piqued.  
  
Jaina realized it was ridiculous fighterpilot pride talking as she opened her mouth to tell her wingmate just why she knew Fel could bleed, and that she had every intention of winning the bet.  
  
"After all," she finished, smirking, "what Corellian could resist a challenge?"  
  
Xada shook her head. "You're going to lose, Sticks. I hope you didn't bet anything serious."  
  
"My ego," Jaina answered with a shrug.  
  
Xada chuckled. "Ah, well, as long as it wasn't anything important."  
  
Jaina looked her friend in the eye. "You really don't think I can win?"  
  
Xada gauged Jaina's face for a long moment, and her own response, before saying, "I think if anyone can do it, you can, Sticks."  
  
Jaina smiled. "Thanks."  
  
"But I don't think anyone can do it."  
  
Rogue Twelve demonstrated Jedi-like reflexes, ducking the spoonful of coagulated stew as Jaina launched it.  
  
"I'm so glad you're a better shot in an X-wing."  
  
Jaina waved sheepishly at the gray-uniformed bridge officer who she'd managed to hit. "Sorry. I didn't mean to get you."  
  
"She meant to hit me," Xade supplied cheerfully. "But thanks for covering me."  
  
The officer nodded, faking a smile, and turned back to his company. Jaina glared at Xade.  
  
"Next time, don't move."  
  
"Next time, aim. The next errant shot might not find someone so forgiving."  
  
"You could take him," Jaina said flippantly. "I have faith in your skills. You know, like a wingmate _should_."  
  
"You talk too much, do you know that?"  
  
Jaina grinned. "I do, I really do."  
  
"Besides, I do have faith in your skills. I think you can take on any Vong pilot and win. I'd put money on you beating any pilot in this cafeteria right now, me included. In fact, I know you could outfly anyone in here." Xada waved a hand to indicate the dining hall. "But do you see Colonel Fel in here?"  
  
"That's what the bet's supposed to change, or did you miss that part?"  
  
"You've been spending too much time with me. You're getting insolent."  
  
"I thought I outranked you..." Jaina mused.  
  
Xada groaned. "All right, all right. I believe you can win. I believe Colonel Jagged Fel doesn't stand a chance against the laser lock of Lieutenant Jaina Solo. Are you happy now?"  
  
"That's all I wanted, Xade," Jaina beamed. "Was that so hard?"  
  
Xada Rostin rolled her russet eyes. "Pilots," she groaned. "So, what are you going to do now?"  
  
"Well." Jaina stood up, and hefted her tray, careful to keep the sloshing stew within the confines of its bowl. "First I thought I'd report for the squadron's debriefing. Then I thought I'd round up the colonel and make him pay for what he said this morning. I feel lucky."  
  
"Jedi don't need luck, they have the Force," Xada grumbled. "And what did he say this monring?"  
  
"He's always gotta outdo me." As Jaina started off, in the direction of the ship's galley to return her tray, she tossed a comment back at her wingmate. "And if you're nice, I'll Jedi _you_ a little luck."  


	4. As Luck Would Have It

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Four: As Luck Would Have It  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it. Additional disclaimer must be issued: The battle in this chapter takes place in Aaron Allston's X-wing novel,  Solo Command. Wedge's orders are quotes from the book, as are Wraith Three's contribution and Wraith Five's reports. Again, here, no money is being made, and no infringement is intended.

  
  
She slid into the tiny confines of the simulator's cockpit and pulled the hatch shut behind her. Even before she began flipping the switches to activate the machine, Sparky's chirped greeting translated into written Basic displayed on the message screen above and to the right of her flight stick.  
  
"It went well," she answered, referring to the debriefing. She started the initiation sequence and the X-wing cockpit came to life around her.  
  
Sparky had another question.  
  
"I found him in the ready room near the main bay." Jaina entered the override codes for the simulation she and Jag had agreed on.  
  
Sparky had a comment for the choice.  
  
"Yes, Dad was there. It was his task force. The part we want to run will end up atmospheric. Rogue Squadron was there, Wraith Squadron was there, and the 181st was there."  
  
The droid's next query displayed a substantial amount of insight on the part of the little mechanical helper.  
  
Jaina smiled. "Yes," she said. "Jag is flying as Cowall flying as his father. I have a feeling the colonel's a better imitation of the baron than that actor, though." Jaina stifled a giggle at a sudden, ridiculous observation. "He even has the flightsuit to match."  
  
Sparky blatted something sarcastic, and then wanted to know where the rest of Rogue Squadron was. One of the other droids had claimed there would be a full squad-on-squad sim between the Rogues and the Spikes.  
  
Jaina nodded and told the droid, "Colonel Darklighter more or less gave us the day off until nineteen-hundred. That's when we're going to re-fly Gyndine against the Spikes."  
  
Sparky whistled.  
  
"Nope."  
  
He wanted clarification.  
  
As Jaina punched the last button to bring her screens to life, she told Sparky exactly what the droid expected to hear. "He's a hard taskmaster," she said, as the tunnel of hyperspace spun around her. "His people are reviewing the battle data, and a few of them are already simming."  
  
The droid had a remark that wasn't completely flattering for the young colonel, but respectful nonetheless.  
  
Jaina agreed. "He is good at what he does. So are his people."  
  
There was no time for more idle conversation; as the simulator's warning tone sounded the one-minute-to-realspace countdown began on her HUD.  
  
They were only going to run the half of the sim where Zsinj's _Iron Fist_ was hiding in the debris ring around Selaggis Six. As the original mission had gone, Wedge Antilles and his group of six starfighter squadrons--the Rogues, the Wraiths, three more X-wing squads, and an A-wing unit--had been sent into the ring around the planet to do recon for General Solo's battle plan. Then the warlord had launched his decoy 181st Squadron to strafe the ruins of a settlement. That had gotten the Rogues out of the way so Zsinj could meet Solo without the interference of the best fighter squadron in the galaxy.  
  
Jaina knew Baron Fel would have argued that point. She also knew Jag would argue the point now, if given the chance. She didn't expect to be giving him the chance.  
  
With a realistic lurch the stars around her reverted to normal pinpoints of light. Ahead, the yellow-orange gas giant Selaggis loomed; its seven moons were barely visible. Jaina's sensors immediately started screaming with a half-dozen large contacts moving toward Selaggis Six: a Victory-class Star Destroyer, an Imperial-class Star Destroyer, a Lancer, two Dreadnaughts, and a Quasar Fire-class starfighter transport.  
  
While the two capital ships could obliterate an X-wing with a single turbolaser shot, the craft Jaina was really worried about was nowhere to be seen.  
  
It was, after all, merely a short range fighter assigned to a Super Star Destroyer hidden within the asteroid belt.  
  
Ah, well. She'd just have to concentrate on the original mission. For now.  
  
The command over the comm came: all squads were ordered to form up, then break by tasks. Jaina followed her wingmate dutifully, moving with the rest of Wedge's group toward Selaggis Six and surveying Zsinj's chosen battlefield.  
  
That was Zsinj's Doctrine, wasn't it?  
  
Jaina's comm unit crackled, and from the static, then-commander Wedge Antilles's voice emerged. Since no one was flying as Group Leader--or anyone but Rogue Eleven--the default settings were used. Meaning that, technically, Jaina was flying with the best Rogue Squadron ever had.  
  
"Group, this is Leader. When we reach the ring, we'll break by squads to our assigned task. Rogues and Wraiths will head counter-spinward and spread the width of the ring for reconnaissance..." The rest of the transmission had nothing to do with Jaina's immediate situation. She followed her wingmate into the rocky ring.  
  
They prowled the belt, using the asteroids as cover as they swept sensors through the field, searching for a rather large ship controlled by a rather testy foe.  
  
As she'd known it would, the communique came. The _Iron Fist_ had been found. Polearm One had earned the three-day pass. All squadrons were ordered to form up on Captain Todra Mayn.  
  
It was only a matter of minutes before all six of the squadrons under Wedge's command were grouped together, hiding behind the larger rocks and watching Zsinj's ship blast a path parallel to the edge of the ring.  
  
The _Iron Fist_ was the long, thin, triangular shape of a Super Star Destroyer. On sensors it was much like the TIE Interceptor: not very intimidating, save for the size of its red blip compared to the size of the friendly blue blips surrounding her position. Through the viewport, though, it was breathtaking.  
  
Not entirely the good kind of breathtaking, either. Despite that it was a simulation, Jaina felt her heart skip a beat.  
  
The order came for the squadrons to break up, for each squad to make its own approach on the warship. So she hopped from asteroid to asteroid, right behind Rogue Twelve, slowly advancing on the _Iron Fist_.  
  
When Rogue Squadron finished a half-orbit around one of the moon-sized asteroids, Zsinj's flagship was in full view, less than a klick below. The only active weapons were the bow guns being used to clear the path.  
  
The order came to maintain the orbit. Zsinj hadn't detected them yet. Wedge's announcement of Rogue Squadron in position ended in a burst of static, and each of the other squadron commanders came back with their own in position reports.  
  
As soon as one more quick orbit was complete, Wedge Antilles gave the order to attack.

  
It was time to engage the enemy.  
  
The cry came through the comm as a near shriek. Even under the circumstances, it surprised Jaina.  
  
"Break off, break off! It's an ambush!"  
  
After a pause, the same voice came on again, calmer this time.  
  
"Group Leader, this is Wraith Three. Please order an abort on the assault run."  
  
It was an ambush. A tactic Zsinj had used before, and would doubtless use again. The starfighters broke away; Jaina hauled back on her own stick and feathered her rudder, to send the X-wing into a loop back toward their initial position. _Iron Fist_ 's guns went active, blazing a trail through the rocks as they fired on the now-obvious assault force.  
  
There were two casualties. Commander Antilles pointed this out, and Lieutenant Donos explained the situation.  
  
The instructions were modified accordingly. Rogue Squadron began another assault run, but this time, they stayed away from the big rocks.  
  
Jaina knew Zsinj had recalled his TIEs even before the first eyeball screamed up on her tail. It was part of the battle plan. Once the eyeball was in her aft scope, she dived toward an asteroid, hoping to catch the pilot unawares and have him splatter a mess all over a boulder. She twisted around a rolling asteroid, and instead of looping back to find the TIE splashed across the rock she'd been aiming him for, she found something sweeter: the profile of an Imperial eyeball in her crosshairs.  
  
Two dual-linked shots fired in quick succession turned one more Imp pilot into so much space dust.  
  
Jaina had to haul back on the stick to keep from losing the head-to-head with a moon-sized rock. When she crested it, she found exactly what she'd been waiting for.  
  
Filling her viewport was the _Iron Fist_ , and spilling from the Super Star Destroyer's belly bay were TIE Interceptors. They formed up quickly--three groups of four--and arched toward Selaggis Six.  
  
And the already slagged colony there.  
  
One of the squints flashed by, close enough for Jaina to see the red stripe painted on the wing. She knew that red stripe, and she grinned in anticipation.  
  
Sparky blatted a remark.  
  
"You're right," she agreed, and aimed the snubfighter's nose for the planet. All she had to do was wait for Wedge's order. "He does look like his ship."  
  
The only ships under Wedge's command capable of keeping up with Baron Fel's 181st were the captured squints flown by four of the Wraiths. Kell Tainer, Ellassar Targon, Shalla Nelprin, and the infamous Wes Janson trailed the enemy at a respectable distance; the X-wings were losing ground with each klick.  
  
The report came back over the comm from Wraith Five; they'd already entered the atmosphere, and were following the 181st toward the west coast of the primary continent. The last time Zsinj's forces had visited the planet, the colony there had been pounded flat. Also, according to Wraith Five atmospheric conditions were not helpful. It must have been monsoon season for the way he was talking.  
  
"Heavy rain, heavy winds."  
  
It was one of the reasons Jaina had proposed this specific engagement. The inclement weather could toss around a squint a lot more easily than it could an X-wing, and she figured if she could catch the Chiss commander at a disadvantage in lousy weather, maybe she'd have a shot.  
  
Jaina followed the Rogues and the rest of the Wraiths down into the storm clouds, and heard Kell Tainer's almost frantic broadcast. The 181st was strafing the colony. He wanted permission to engage.  
  
Wedge Antilles agreed. "Permission granted," he said.  
  
The furball was already underway when the rest of them arrived, slipping through the cloud cover. They broke by pairs to swoop in on the squints like ungainly birds of prey. As soon as the newcomers registered on sensors, however, hell broke loose. Interceptor pairs scattered and adopted almost comical flight paths in order to gain the advantage on the more rugged, less swift Republic starfighters.  
  
Jaina told Sparky to find Jag, and designate him Target Primary. She kept one eye shifting between her scopes and Sparky's reports, and the other eye focused out the viewport. She was trying to pick Jag out by sight alone, wondering if she'd recognize any of his hotshot maneuvers.  
  
Sparky's announcement that he'd found Jag occurred at the same instant her sensors started screaming that someone had a lock on her. Jaina cast a quick glance at her aft scope.  
  
"Let me guess," she said, dryly. "He's behind me?"  
  
Sparky tooted an affirmative.  
  
Jaina jerked her ship around to avoid his blazing shots as she performed a mental countdown. For once, she had a plan.  
  
Granted, it wasn't a very good plan, and she'd be the first to concede that, but it was a plan, and that was an improvement. One thing she'd learned quickly from Jag Fel: tactics were important. Even a Jedi couldn't rely on instinct, reflexes, and the Force alone all of the time.  
  
Despite her best efforts, Jag scored more than one hit on her rear shields. Jaina didn't like that much; she never liked getting hit.  
  
She shoved the stick forward and throttled to full. Rather than a horizon in her viewport-- one veiled with the slanting rain of the storm--she was seeing the beach. To her left was the roiling ocean, and to her right, the sandy-brown of the shore. She nudged the ship over so the beach was merely in her peripheral, and she waited.  
  
Jag didn't overshoot her this time. Jaina decided then that she was going to have to come up with variations on her sudden dive technique. It was getting predictable.  
  
 _That sounds like something Dad would say,_ she thought wryly. _And Jag, too, for that matter._  
  
Jaina kept her attention divided between her rear sensors and the angry view of the ocean growing more defined in her viewport. For the moment, life was good.  
  
Jaina knew that she wasn't going to run her X-wing into the water just to spite him, and she knew that Jag knew that, too. Which was why he wasn't backing off. She may be reckless, but she wasn't stupid. He was probably trying to figure out which direction she'd take as soon as she leveled off.  
  
She didn't intend to give him a peek.  
  
Less than a klick above the surface, Jaina fired into the ocean. It was trick that had actually been used in this specific battle--Wraith Five had done it, and Jaina was hoping that Jag had never encountered this particular circumstance before.  
  
Steam boiled up from the water. Inside the steam cloud she'd created, Jaina leveled off. It was much like flying through an explosion, she thought, and swung the nose of her ship around to face where she was expecting Jag's squint to come out.  
  
For once, things went as she hoped.  
  
Colonel Fel wasn't stupid, either, and Jaina had been counting on that. Even the most reckless fighter pilot would be more cautious through a steam cloud, as they were with regular clouds. He eased up enough on the throttle for his ship to drift into Jaina's crosshairs as he leveled out; the reticle went green with a solid lock.  
  
Jaina didn't hesitate. She fired.  
  
One of her shots slipped between the pylon and the cockpit, and the other went low and to port. Jag was already reacting, jinking his fighter around, and he was taking the fight where he wanted it. As he banked back toward land, Jaina followed, firing, and fighting the atmospheric conditions.  
  
Jag tried to use his ship's speed to outrun her, and he would have succeeded if they hadn't been flying into the storm. But the Interceptor was much lighter than the X-wing, and with Jag in front cutting down wind resistance, Jaina managed to keep up with him.  
  
She hadn't been lying when she'd told Xada she felt lucky. No matter what her Jedi training said, Jaina always had believed in luck. It was something her father had taught her.  
  
She was staying with him, anticipating his moves. More than one of her shots actually scorched his ship. Jaina knew that it was definitely one of her better days.  
  
Still, with or without shields, and regardless of Jaina Solo's sudden surge of reckless confidence, Jag Fel was good.  
  
Jag juked his fighter around, bobbing and weaving, and pouring everything he could into speed. Jaina was prepared for the possibility of climbing, and kept a loose hand on the stick just in case. It wouldn't have surprised her. After all, what could he possibly hope to accomplish above the forest?  
  
Then it hit Jaina. They were skimming the treetops. At this speed, a collision with one of the tall woods would be deadly. It would shred the fighters, shields or no, and the sim would be over real quick.  
  
Jaina gritted her teeth as she felt a flash of anger. He was underestimating her and her abilities. He was trying to lure her into making a mistake--into crashing her ship.  
  
Jaina was insulted. And an insulted Solo is not one you want to have at your back.  
  
She thumbed the switch to link her lasers for single-shot cycling. The energy was lower and the shots weren't quite as damaging, but they came faster. Jaina created something of her own storm on Jag's tail as her shots converged on the rear of his fighter.  
  
When she'd blown a hole in the TIE's cockpit, Jaina thumbed off one torpedo for good measure. She knew she was doing it out of spite even as she watched the blue ion tail streak toward the squint. Jag pulled up, but his damaged ship wouldn't cooperate for very long.  
  
The explosion was a spectacular thing.  
  
Sparky's bleat was reprimanding. Jaina grinned as she got a mission end note. Then the screens around her went dark.  
  
"I did not waste that torp," she defended. "He deserved it."  
  
Sparky's reply was a lament Jaina had heard from droids all her life.  
  
He was never going to understand humans.  


	5. Downtime

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Five: Downtime  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.

  
  
The pilot's lounge of the _Ralroost_ was a large, oddly-shaped compartment on the same deck as the ready rooms and the briefing rooms. The exposed bulkheads were all a dull battleship gray and the furniture was low and simple in design. The square couches and chairs were upholstered in shades of gray, black, and dark blue. Round white tables had been set up in zigzag patterns across the main part of the room; the furniture that normally occupied the space had been moved to the side, and in some cases, had even been stacked.  
  
The stocked bar against the far bulkhead was locked down because the pilots were on alert status. However, the commanding officers that had approved this downtime had also approved a sweet, fizzy drink that didn't have enough alcoholic content to do any damage.  
  
Terminal niches lined the bulkhead opposite the bar. The screens were dark; the real action was at the game tables.  
  
Xada could only issue a frustrated and disappointed groan as Sticks spread her card-chips face up on the table so the rest of the pilots could see just how soundly they'd been beaten. Sticks had given them fair warning, Xada reflected; Rogue Eleven felt lucky, and she'd said as much. Common sense should have kept her from gambling against a Solo on a winning streak, but Xada had never really considered herself a woman dictated by common sense. That mentality had gotten her into trouble more than once. She spread her own card-chips on the table, and was rewarded with a low whistle.  
  
"Close," Sticks remarked.  
  
Xada took small comfort in the fact that she'd obviously thrown her wingmate off. "Too close," she agreed. She shook her head. "This should teach me to play sabacc with a Jedi," she added, voicing the regret held by the other three pilots present.  
  
Sticks grinned. "Had to learn the hard way, huh?"  
  
Chair legs scraped suddenly against the deck as the two blue-clad Ace pilots pushed away from the table. Xada noted the expressions of disgust that clouded their faces as they cast a final glance at the pile of credits and credit cubes. She couldn't be sure if it was Sticks or themselves they were fed up with, and hoped it was themselves. She had other plans, and didn't want to have to postpone them just to straighten out a couple of vape-brained A-wing jockeys.  
  
They walked away without incident, however, and Xada relaxed, turning her attention back to her wingmate, who was stacking the card-chips once again in the center of the table. A moment later, the Twi'lek pilot rose slowly, and Sticks looked up, startled.  
  
"You're not going to play again?"  
  
Rogue Seven flashed a rueful grin, full of sharp teeth, that sent a chill down Xada's spine. "I have nothing left to lose, Sticks," he replied, in accented Basic.  
  
Sticks returned his smile. "Just for fun, then?" she suggested.  
  
The big Twi'lek warrior shook his head once, his lekku twitching. "I'd rather not."  
  
Sticks didn't press, but Xada wondered what else she'd expected from the daughter of a princess.  
  
"Okay. See you tomorrow?"  
  
"I'll be the skip on your tail," he replied, baring his teeth again in a fashion decidedly not rueful.  
  
Sticks rolled her eyes. "Sure. The last thing I see before I meet the void, right?"  
  
"That is correct." All three knew that Kayara'sor was good, but Rogue Eleven was better. He bowed once. "Good night, ladies."  
  
"Good night, Kay."  
  
Both women watched as their squadmate retreated. Xada turned back to Sticks, and raised her hands when the younger woman raised a questioning eyebrow.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "You already have all the money I'm willing to lose."  
  
The pile before the young Jedi woman was the equivalent of six weeks' pay, and would be quite a sum if pilots were paid anything worth counting.  
  
"Sith," Sticks grumbled. "I was hoping for your dignity."  
  
"I lost that a long time ago," Xada said. "A long time ago. As much as I'd love to stay, though, I've got a _date_."  
  
As Sticks blinked, Rogue Twelve congratulated herself on a surprise well sprung.  
  
"A date?" Sticks repeated, somewhat disbelieving. Xada nodded, and the other woman added, "Who?"  
  
"You remember the officer you threw lunch at?" As her wingmate nodded dumbly, Xada ran a hand over her buzz cut. She liked her hair this short, because she didn't have to worry about it at all. "Him," she confirmed, dropping her hand to her side.  
  
As if to clear it, Sticks shook her head. Xada heard her mumble, "I can't believe you're fraternizing with the enemy."  
  
Xada stood up, and flashed the younger woman a wicked grin, full of teeth. "And I can't believe you're not," she retorted.  
  
Sticks frowned. "What are you talking about?"  
  
"Don't play dumb, Lieutenant. You know exactly what I'm talking about--the colonel."  
  
"Jag's hardly the enemy," Sticks mused, and looked up, as if to continue.  
  
Xada raised a hand to keep her silent. "I'm already late. I'll catch you later--and I promise all the gory details you can handle." That said with a conspirator's wink.  
  
Sticks made a face. "Spare me. I don't want them."  
  
"But honey, you need 'em."  
  
Xada was gone before Sticks could sputter a protest, and she silently complimented herself on a successful subversion. Now Sticks had something to think about. Xada slipped from the smoky haze of the lounge into the unpolluted air of the corridor, and couldn't believe her luck.  
  
Colonel Jagged Fel was striding toward her, purposeful in his stance and stoic in his demeanor. His uniform was only slightly less severe than usual, but he wore no rank insignia, and Xada approved. She could definitely see what should be attracting her wingmate; Jag Fel was one of those people quite pleasant to look at. Behind him, wearing the same composed expressions as their commander and identical, perfect off-duty uniforms were the dozen Chiss of Spike Squadron.  
  
Xada grinned absurdly at them all.  
  
"It's downtime, not a battle, Colonel," she remarked when they were close enough.  
  
Fel paused near her, and offered a tight smile. "It's a lost bet," he corrected.  
  
Xada exaggerated a wince. "Sticks is on a roll," she told him. "I suggest not playing sabacc against her, no matter how charming she gets."  
  
"I'll keep that in mind," Fel returned, and Xada thought she saw something like amusement flash in his eyes. The colonel's gaze flickered to the hatch behind Xada long enough for the Rogue to catch something readable in the expression of the female Chiss closest to him. "Are we late?" he asked.  
  
"Hmm? Oh, no. She's still in there. Most of 'em are still in there. I've just got somewhere else to be." Xada stowed the puzzle away for later, and smiled brightly at the whole group of them. "And remember," she began, as she started past them all. "Have fun!"  
  
Colonel Darklighter had obliquely referred to the no-decor events in the lounge as a mini-mutiny when he'd made the offhand announcement earlier, as most of his people were preparing to leave the debriefing. The reference had been lost on many of her squadmates, Jaina knew, but the story was one her father had told fondly more than once. Jaina couldn't help but appreciate Colonel Darklighter's motivation. He'd seen that pilot morale wasn't as high as it could be, and had taken steps to fix the problem.  
  
 _I certainly feel better._ She finished stacking the card-chips into the cube at the center of the table. She wasn't quite sure where the portable randomizers had come from, and if she was honest, she didn't want to know. A few months in Rogue Squadron had taught her to only ask the important questions; otherwise, she risked an answer she didn't want.  
  
Jaina reset the game cube and rose to leave, her winnings heavy in a thigh pocket on her brown jumpsuit. No one else would be willing to play a Jedi, not even under the influence of the moderate stimulants they'd been allowed. Besides, it was late, and she'd had a long day.  
  
She hadn't expected Spike Squadron at this get-together. Because as far as she could tell, Aces and Rogues were the only ones who knew about it. Other reasons included Jag's stubborn, relentless habits of keeping his people training and reviewing, as well as the fact that the bet had only been settled that afternoon. He probably needed time to adjust to having lost.  
  
There was only one way in or out of the lounge, and when that oversized hatch slid back to reveal the Spikes, Jaina smiled. They stepped into the haze and lined up less than a meter from the entrance, two deep and six wide. It looked as though they were preparing for a parade march or an inspection; Jaina had to stifle the laughter that threatened. She didn't think the Chiss would take kindly to being laughed at.  
  
An eerie hush settled over the room. Conversations ceased altogether as pilots turned to see what had captivated the attention of their companions.  
  
The Chiss surveyed the scene with their strange red eyes. When Shawnkyr Nuruodo's gaze fell on Jaina, the young Rogue shivered. There was nothing forgiving in that woman's stare.  
  
The twelve pilots began to move slowly, deliberately, further into the room. They took empty seats at the sabacc tables, at the dejarik boards along the bulkhead under the viewports, and at the bar. They were all no-decor, Jaina observed with approval. Not one of the white flightsuits displayed any form of rank or rate insignia, although they did still wear what served as their unit patch.  
  
Of all of Jag's people, his second-in-command broke the silence as she placed a handful of glinting disks on the table before her.  
  
"Is our money sufficient?" she asked, voice deep. All around that table, nervous pilots bobbed their heads. Shawnkyr nodded once. "Good. Deal me in."  
  
Jaina was proud of herself. She didn't laugh as conversations began tentatively. The New Republic pilots were understandably wary; she'd have been cautious if the whole situation hadn't been her fault.  
  
She smiled as Jag approached, and noted that his colonel's rank pin was conspicuously absent. The severe black flightsuit looked less pressed than usual, and it occurred to Jaina that the young man was making an effort at looking relaxed.  
  
"I didn't think you were coming tonight," Jaina said.  
  
Jag's smile was tight. "I believe the term is fashionably late," he replied.  
  
Jaina's amusement quirked one corner of her mouth higher than the other. "You're handling defeat well."  
  
"Only on the outside." Jag's gaze flickered past Jaina, to the zigzag of game tables. "It was suggested to me that sabacc against you would be dangerous for my account," he remarked.  
  
Jaina's sigh was exaggerated. "And Xada calls herself a friend," she grumbled. She looked up at Jag and added, "What kind of friend warns away prey?"  
  
"An empathic one?" he suggested, eyebrow lifted.  
  
Jaina pretended to think about that. "Probably," she conceded. "Okay, yeah. An empathic one. I'm going to have to talk to her about that." Something caught her eye off to her right, and she glanced in the direction of the dejarik boards. One of them was available. "How about a chance to redeem yourself then?" She gestured to the board, and he turned to look. "I understand the Chiss are fond of strategy."  
  
"They are." Jag nodded once, and then stepped aside. He started to bow--Jaina saw the slight movement. He managed to stop himself nicely. "After you."  
  
She all but expected him to pull her chair out for her. Jag Fel struck her as the type to cling to old ideals and formalities. He let her seat herself, though, and Jaina wanted to giggle. The whole situation was rather absurd.  
  
He was deft enough at bringing the holograms to life. Her figures were in shades of blue, and his in shades of red. This was a version of the game newer than the one she'd learned on, but the principle was still the same.  
  
"I must warn you," Jag began, and to Jaina, he looked unusually boyish. Through the Force, the sense she got of him was fun; maybe he wasn't pretending to be so relaxed, she thought.  
  
"About what?"  
  
"I play this better than I fly."  
  
Jaina's grin was fast. "Like I told my wingmate, Jag, I feel lucky today."  
  
"Luck?" Jag moved one of his figures first--he'd won the random number draw--and he glanced back up at her. "Luck has nothing to do with it."  
  
"So you'd be willing to admit that I out-flew you today?" she asked, curiously. She countered with her own move, up and two squares over. She recognized his opening advance; Chewie had insisted on teaching all three Solo children every formal strategy for the game, as well as a few he and Han had developed over their years together. Jaina had decided to use one of the family strategies. Jag wasn't likely to have encountered it before.  
  
"You did." His agreement was so simple that Jaina looked up, somewhat startled. Pilots simply didn't admit they could be out-flown. Jag was considering the dejarik board. He spared a brief glance up at her as he activated the controls to move one of his smaller holograms nearer to Jaina's rancor. It was a trick, and she knew it. Jag continued, "We learn nothing if we aren't willing to admit our weaknesses."  
  
"You sound like my father again," she remarked evenly.  
  
Jag's grin was quick and genuine. "Yes, but it was something you needed to hear."  
  
Jaina rolled her eyes. "You know, Xada didn't think I had a chance at winning our bet."  
  
"Smart girl."  
  
Jaina moved one of her minor holograms closer to the target. "She doesn't really think anyone can beat you," she continued.  
  
"I like her more every minute," he returned.  
  
Jaina met his gaze, and caught her breath. Something tickled at the back of her mind, something that was trying to contradict a decision she'd made at their second meeting. "Has anyone ever told you you're too arrogant for you own good?" she managed.  
  
Jag shook his head slowly. "I don't believe so, no. Why? What have they told you?"


	6. Happy Birthday, Flyboy

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Six: Happy Birthday, Flyboy  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.  
  
  
The long corridor was silent and cold. As Jaina Solo stepped out of the turbolift and into the passageway, the chrono strapped to her wrist confirmed the time. It was late; social calls at this hour could be classified as impolite and she knew it. She also knew that the colonel had spent the last six hours holed up in a conference room with his second-in-command, no doubt reviewing every record of every event since Gyndine.  
  
Any normal human, Jaina reflected, would be exhausted. The young Jedi was acutely aware of the sound of her boots falling against the deck. She was also aware that her motivation was unclear, even to her. Oh, sure, she had her surface justification: this would be in keeping with her behavior since the beginning of this tour, and she knew he'd see that.  
  
Jaina paused less than half a meter from the unmarked hatch. It was quite unremarkable, she thought; in fact, it looked just like every other hatch to every other cabin up and down the corridor, and if she'd had someone to bet with, Jaina would have laid money on the odds that the inside wasn't very extraordinary, either.  
  
She lifted a hand and landed a knock on the sleek metal.  
  
Jaina had enough time to smooth her hair down nervously, tug at the fabric of her soft brown flightsuit, and shift her weight uneasily from side to side. She was fidgeting. What would Mom say to that?  
  
"Enter," came the muffled command, and Jaina ordered herself to settle down. She passed her free hand over the panel set into the bulkhead beside the hatchway. The barrier slid up.  
  
The colonel stood in the space between the two bunks, facing the entrance expectantly. When his gaze swept over her, Jaina felt his relief. He even slumped a little.  
  
"Lieutenant," he said. Jag's hands uncurled themselves from fists at his sides.  
  
"Colonel," she returned. Why was her heart pounding so loudly?  
  
"It's late," he remarked when she said nothing.  
  
Jaina nodded. "Yes."  
  
For a long moment, Jag stared at her. He finally appeared to give up as he asked, "Was there something you wanted?"  
  
Jaina noticed the well-disguised impatience in his tone, and that shook her out of the lethargy that had apparently claimed her. She quickly shook her head.  
  
"No, I--" She smiled brightly. "I brought something for you."  
  
Jag's smile was tight, and forced. "Well then, why don't you come in and have a seat?"  
  
If he had been anyone else, Jaina would have expected Jag to be grinding his teeth. As it was, that muscle in his cheek twitched, in frustration, she supposed. In compliance with his request, Jaina all but launched herself at the unrumpled bunk closest to her. She folded her legs tailor-style, and settled the black cube she'd brought in her lap.  
  
As the hatch came down, so did Jag. He sank carefully to the edge of the other bunk--the space-side one--and his eyes met hers.  
  
"What is that?" he asked, politely, his hands gripping the edge of the bunk and his shoulders hunched.  
  
Jaina noticed that he looked tired. She also noticed the stubble on his face and that his flightsuit was unsealed from neck to navel. She really had interrupted his sleep preparations, and she suddenly felt a sting of guilt. She'd hurry, she promised herself, and extended the box across the space to him.  
  
"It's for you," she said, and congratulated herself on her eloquence. Jaina quirked a smile. "Happy birthday, flyboy."  
  
Jag frowned as he accepted the box. "Excuse me?"  
  
Jaina felt her expression fall, and her mind scrambled for the mistake she'd made in the interpretation of the information. "It's not your birthday?" She furrowed her brow and let her narrowed gaze fall from his. "Your file said--" Too late. Jaina's head snapped up as soon as the words left her mouth.  
  
"My file?" Jag repeated.  
  
She stared wide-eyed at him while she tried to decide what to do about the situation. He didn't look upset, she noted. _He should--I sliced in._ Lieutenants didn't really need access to the personnel files for foreign commanders, and her activities could possibly be considered spying if she hadn't covered her tracks as well as she thought she did.  
  
But then she saw the faint twitch at the corner of his lips, and all the anxiety she felt melted away. He wasn't upset; he was amused, and trying not to let her see it. Jaina gave him the patented Solo grin.  
  
"That's right," she said.  
  
"Well. Did you do it yourself?"  
  
Jaina nodded. "Of course I did."  
  
"I should probably be disappointed in you," he remarked mildly.  
  
She shrugged. "Probably. Are you going to tell?"  
  
"Tell what?" he countered, convincingly innocent. "I don't know anything."  
  
"Oh, good."  
  
The moment that found them conspirators was broken as he glanced down at the box he held; Jaina settled in for a stay, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. She watched with curious amusement as she simply eyed the box, turning it carefully this way and that.  
  
"You know, where I'm from, we open presents to see what's inside," she commented gently. His sharp glance in her direction made her want to laugh. "I promise it won't bite," she offered.  
  
In Jaina's opinion, Jag was unduly cautious as he slipped one of the top panels away from the other three. Of course, she didn't know the story behind the caution and he didn't share. After a still moment, he continued to pull back the flaps; at length, withdrew the first gift, a pair of black flight gloves.  
  
Jaina answered the inquiry in his expression. "Wedge said your dad used to wear the same ones," she explained.  
  
Jag's gaze softened momentarily, and Jaina almost expected the memory she could feel, but he merely nodded once. "I remember," he said as he set the gloves aside.  
  
She resisted the urge to frown. Jag had remembered something--something pleasant. She knew because she'd felt it. But he'd pushed it away, shut it off, and she had to wonder what could make a person stifle good memories.  
  
Jaina almost missed when he removed the small electronic cube and held it up between forefinger and thumb. The glance he shot her was a veiled sort of questioning. She sensed that he'd shut down again.  
  
"Imperial propaganda," she said with a wryness she didn't feel.  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Do you have a player?" Jaina asked. Jag nodded, but didn't volunteer its location, and didn't move. "Where is it?"  
  
As he palmed the cube, he gestured to the footlocker at the end of his bunk. "In there, with the datapad."  
  
"May I?"  
  
She sensed his surprise at her polite request. Not because it was polite, but because it was a request.  
  
"Of course," he said, so quickly it must have been reflex.  
  
Jaina extended her legs and rose, unable to avoid bumping her knees with his. The cabin was small, smaller still than the one she shared with Xada. It took less than two steps to reach the locker, and she knelt to open the top.  
  
"I've never seen it," she began, conversationally, as she peered into the neat storage space. She wondered silently if there was anything imperfect about him.  
  
It occurred to Jaina when she stood that she probably didn't want a positive answer to that stray thought.  
  
"But I'm sure you have," she finished. She handed him the player and the datapad, and then resumed her position on the bunk opposite him.  
  
Jag nodded his thanks and set about loading the cube and activating the display screen. Jaina took quick stock of her surroundings, as she hadn't before. The cabin was approximately three meters square, two and a quarter high, and the bulkheads were a severe gray. The bunks were narrow; the walk space between them not even half a meter, and the footlockers for each seemed to take up a great deal more space than they should.  
  
Jaina nodded appreciatively. "Nice digs," she observed. "They just scream, 'Jag Fel lives here.'"  
  
Jag's smile was small and sardonic when he looked up at her. "I thought so," he replied. He then turned his attention back to the datapad in his hands.  
  
With the play of blue-hued light over his face, Jag's impassiveness melted into another soft smile. Jaina's own smile was self-satisfied.  
  
"Apparently, Wynssa Starflare was a talented actress," she said.  
  
"The best," Jag confirmed. His head came up again, and with the most genuine expression she'd ever seen, he said, "Thank you."  
  
"Everyone's allowed to miss home," she told him, "and you're welcome, but you still have one more thing left in that box."  
  
He didn't seem to want to, but Jag set the datapad and the holoplayer on the welded-to-the-bulkhead table that served as the joint nightstand. Through the Force, Jaina could sense the small crack in his normally impenetrable shields. Jag Fel was, for the moment, unguarded. Apparently she'd interpreted the impression from the week before correctly; she felt another smug smirk coming on.  
  
She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the light, rumbling chuckle Jag emitted upon discovering the final touch of the small birthday celebration.  
  
" _Ryshcate_ ," he remarked.  
  
"It's a Corellian tradition," Jaina shrugged. "And you've already proved that you're as Corellian as brandy, so it seemed appropriate."  
  
"It is," Jag assured her. As he turned the square of sweet bread over, he met her eyes. "You're going to share with me."  
  
The fact that he was giving her no option made Jaina smile. "Of course," she said, for the second time that evening.  
  
"How did you--?"  
  
Jaina cut him off quickly. "Don't ask, Jag. You don't want to know."  
  
The young commander froze, in the action of breaking the dessert, and openly stared at her. There was mild shock in his facial cast, and Jaina pursed her lips.  
  
"How--?"  
  
"I said," she interrupted forcefully, "don't ask. Can't you follow orders?"  
  
Jag's quick nod and urbane amusement entertained Jaina. "Yes, ma'am, of course," he said, and she was aware of the fact that he was humoring her.  
  
"I can't imagine you'd have gotten this far if you couldn't," she remarked dryly, accepting the hunk of _ryshcate_ he offered. She waited for him to speak the traditional phrase.  
  
"We share this _ryshcate_ the same way we share the celebration of another year passed," he said, somberly, and managed--to Jaina's approval--not to sound pompous at all.  
  
"To another year gone, and many more to come," she agreed.  
  
The _ryshcate_ was an indulgence, and part of Jaina's apprehension before had stemmed from the fact that she hadn't known how he would react to such an indulgence. It was a tradition her father had clung to, though. For every birthday, for every Lifeday, and for every momentous occasion Jaina could remember, _ryshcate_ had been part of it. She hadn't known if Jag's parents had held the same traditions. Wedge hadn't had an answer when she'd asked, and even asking the general that much had compromised her false motives.  
  
"May I at least ask why you've done this?" Jag questioned, sweeping stray dark crumbs into the box.  
  
Jaina brushed her mouth, and nodded. "In our line of work, Jag, you never know if this will be the last birthday you'll get," she told him.  
  
He went somber on her again. "No, you don't," he agreed.  
  
"Everyone deserves something on their birthday. Especially pilots."  
  
"You say that as if you believe I wouldn't have celebrated on my own," he noted.  
  
Jaina didn't struggle with the decision to be honest. "I don't believe you'd have done anything on your own," she stated, flatly. "You're too grim to take the small pleasures where you can find them, remember?"  
  
Jag's smile spread slow, but wide. "You'll never let that go, will you?"  
  
"Oh, someday, I will," she assured him. "Just not today."  
  
"At least I have something to look forward to," he muttered.  
  
"Oh, good." Jaina glanced politely at her wrist chrono, and started to rise. "It's still late, Jag, so I'll let you get some sleep. I know you have a long day planned for tomorrow."  
  
Jaina watched him as she moved toward the hatch, and saw that he wanted to ask her how she knew, but he didn't. _Fast learner,_ she thought, with a ridiculous surge of pride. Jag stood.  
  
"I do," he confirmed. "But I can't say that this wasn't worth it."  
  
"Worth what?" she asked, playfully.  
  
"The twenty minutes of sleep I'll lose," he told her.  
  
"Only twenty?"  
  
"Only twenty."  
  
Jaina pressed the panel to open the hatch, and then took a step toward Jag. She lifted on tip-toe and brushed a light kiss to his cheek.  
  
"Twenty minutes is still twenty minutes," she said, moving back to the hatchway. "Good night, Colonel."  
  
"Good night, Lieutenant. And thank you."  
  
"The pleasure was mine."  
  
And she was gone.  


	7. Tynna

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Seven: Tynna  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.  
  


  
Jaina Solo settled more comfortably into her padded ejection seat, keeping a loose hand on the stick in front of her. A vista of the stars stretched before her, brilliant white pinpoints of light against a clean darkness, a view uninterrupted even by a heads-up-display. Simple perimeter patrols didn't require full battle status, just standby. In fact, the only reason her fighter's S-foils were spread was to keep up appearances. If the need arose, the HUD would be up in less than a flash on an order from Sparky.  
  
But for the present, the young Rogue lieutenant could enjoy an unobstructed view of the galaxy she was trying to protect.  
  
Behind her current position and well off to her starboard spun the beautiful blue-green globe the shrewd Tynnans called home. In a high, slow orbit around the planet, Admiral Kre'fey's larger cruisers were a show of New Republic might as they waited. Their positioning was perfect for observation of all forces within the system, and that pleased the Tynnans even more.  
  
Two and a half days ago, Intelligence had confirmed that Shedao Shai's battle group was still in pursuit of Kre'fey and the refugees he was protecting. Intelligence briefers had also informed Kre'fey and his decision-makers that a layover between jump points had delayed the Vong fleet by at least a day, and when the fleet had jumped, only half had jumped in the direction of Tynna. They couldn't say where the other half of Shai's group had gone, but now Admiral Kre'fey had a whole extra day to implement his plan.  
  
Negotiations between the Bothan admiral and the Tynnan leaders had been short and to the point. The small aquatic mammals had been practical in their approach of the situation, and both sets of brass had found that their agendas could easily mesh.  
  
Admiral Kre'fey wanted a place to make a stand. The Tynnans were aware of the movements of the Vong fleet and the fact of the enemy's lack of sympathy, and they wanted their people protected. So Kre'fey was willing to take on more refugees, and the Tynnans were willing to place the fate of their planet in the hands of the task force.  
  
A mutually beneficial agreement.  
  
She remembered thinking of the Tynnans as realists when Colonel Darklighter had made the announcement at the squadron briefing the day before. Unlike some of the New Republic leaders, the Tynnans seemed to understand the invasion was something everyone would have to fight. Together.  
  
Which was another reason Rogue Squadron was on patrol duty. The Vong weren't expected for at least another shift, but the most famous fighter squadron the New Republic controlled gave displaced refugees a sense of security. This was the squadron that had killed a Death Star and taken Coruscant, after all.  
  
Relegated now to baby-sitting. That was how Colonel Darklighter had put it, his lips twisted into a wry imitation of a smile. Jag Fel had expressed a similar sentiment when she'd passed him in the docking bay after her first patrol shift. He'd told her it was politics.  
  
"Political baby-sitting," Jaina said aloud, as much to herself as to Sparky. She started to chuckle at all the images that particular phrase brought to mind.  
  
Xada Rostin seemed to miss the humor as she swore at Jaina over the wing-to-wing frequency. "Sithspit, Sticks!"  
  
Jaina sobered. They'd been running silent for so long that she'd forgotten about the open comm channel. Apologetic, she looked up, and found the underside of Xada's X-wing above her and half a klick ahead. Even as Jaina offered a sheepish smile, she knew it was futile. At this distance, Xada could see only a bobbing head.  
  
"Sorry, Twelve," Jaina commed, appropriately abashed. "Forgot I had an audience."  
  
"Yeah, I forgot you did, too." Xada hissed an audible sigh, and Jaina sensed a great deal of agitation in her wingmate. After a beat, the other officer asked, "So, what about political baby-sitting?"  
  
Despite the confusion Jaina felt at her wingmate's anxiety, she smiled faintly. "Just thinking about what the colonels said."  
  
Xada's laugh was a sharp burst of static. "Have to wonder about a man who doesn't like baby-sitting and has, like, twenty kids."  
  
Jaina had to chuckle at that, in spite of Sparky's reprimand. "Colonel Darklighter never did like baby-sitting, Twelve. It's not something he hides."  
  
"I'm not fond of it, either," Xada grumbled.  
  
Through the Force, Jaina felt a more pointed spike of tension from Xada and connected the feeling to the words. "Is there something wrong, Xade?" she asked carefully, using the nickname on purpose.  
  
The comm unit buzzed, filling Jaina's head with the annoying sound, and her short, brash wingmate began to speak. "I just have a bad feeling about Tynna, Sticks. I mean, I always get jittery when I have too much time to think before a battle, but... You know, this is different. There was no time for us to be worried at Garqi." Xada had flown with another X-wing squadron at that engagement. "Ithor we saw coming from a klick away. Gyndine was inevitable, I think. But this, Sticks. This is something else."  
  
Xada fell silent, giving Jaina time to absorb what had just occurred.  
  
Lieutenant Xada Rostin was a tough woman. Raised on Coruscant, she was only three years out of the Academy and already a veteran. She was an amazing pilot; that's why she'd transferred into Rogue Squadron after Ithor. Xada had always seemed so confident--but then, lack of confidence killed pilots as certainly as enemy weapons did. Now Xada sounded confused and more than a little scared. That worried Jaina.  
  
Because either her wingmate was burning out, or she felt something Jaina didn't.  
  
"There's nothing here they should want," Xada continued, voice low. "It's just a planet. But we have its people, and nothing the enemy does makes any sense anyway. I just can't shake the bad feeling I have about this. It doesn't even make sense." The self-deprecating quality to Xada's tone and subsequent bitter laugh couldn't be destroyed by the garbled connection.  
  
Jaina shook her head slowly but emphatically. "No, Xada, it does make sense. It's normal--it's war."  
  
"You're seven years younger than me, kid," Xada said, her voice sharp and old. "You're sixteen. And you're telling me that having these doubts is normal. It's war. That's really sad, that you have enough experience to make me believe you, you know it? For that matter, we're both pretty damned sad. Should be green as grass," Xada murmured, "and we're having this conversation."  
  
The truth of Xada's words startled Jaina. So badly that she didn't quite know what to say. It had never really registered on her before, not even when Jag had pointed it out so tactlessly. She was young, and so was Xada. Too young, maybe.  
  
As she tried to come up with a suitable reassurance, Jaina's eyes scanned the sensor displays built into her cockpit board, just below the forward canopy. There was nothing amiss there; the blue dots that signified friendly ships were exactly where they were supposed to be. The orange and yellow blips of the refugee convoy were steadily moving toward the jump point, in the company of a heavily armed escort team consisting of frigates, gunships, and starfighters.  
  
But like Xada, Jaina couldn't shake the sudden feeling of doom. It tickled in her gut first, causing Jaina to doubt it. She and Xada had been talking about bad feelings; this would be a natural reaction. When Jaina's danger sense chimed in, however, she was inclined to believe it. She opened her mouth to agree with her wingmate.  
  
And she was too late.  
  
They seemed to materialize from nowhere, first the frigates, then the cruisers and the larger warships. They emerged from hyperspace less than ten kilometers from Jaina's position. _They nearly came out on top of us!_ Jaina's cockpit alarms started singing, and so did Sparky. The viewport in front of Jaina lit up immediately in shades of green, and her HUD immediately began tracking targets.  
  
Xada had one final comment before switching from the private channel to an open one: "I think I hate being right."  
  
Xada made the calm announcement over the open frequency to the rest of the Rogues and the fleet. That gave Jaina time to study the sensor readouts and the text report from Sparky. Even as Jaina's shields came up to full and Sparky suggested that the Rogue wingpair withdraw until help could arrive, she knew that wasn't an option. No matter how smart it was.  
  
No, the furball was going to take place right here, whether they liked it or not. The Vong had caught them off guard. Over the comm, Jaina heard Colonel Darklighter ordering all Rogues to the scene. As he did so, the larger Vong ships began spewing coralskippers into the space around them.  
  
Xada and Jaina were forced to go evasive, jinking and juking their snubfighters, waiting for reinforcements. Jaina knew that the admiral was scrambling more fighters. Sleeping pilots would again be jolted out of their racks and into battle.  
  
This was only half of the pursuing group, Jaina realized with a start. She was distracted from that thought by a skip passing through her kill zone, begging to be vaped. She poured laserfire into the void off the skip's tail and abandoned any thoughts that weren't of the battle. Those could get her killed.  
  
Jaina got only a bare warning, a dangerous sense of something about to happen. Mistaking it for soon-to-be damage inflicted by the skip currently harassing her aft end, she put more effort into her evasive maneuvers.  
  
She saw the cruiser in her viewport, and she was aware of Xada's fierce concentration on her prey. Jaina opened her mouth to call a warning to her friend, recognizing the Force tingle for what it was. Almost.  
  
"Xada--" she managed, before it happened.  
  
The cruiser opened fire. One long burst of plasma from its living cannon was enough to overload Rogue Twelve's shields and rip through her ship. The explosion was dramatic, a chain reaction from nose to stern.  
  
Jaina felt Xada's surprise, and then nothing. In the space Rogue Twelve had occupied floated only debris. There wasn't even enough left to salvage. Jaina's heart sank, and for a moment, her resolve wavered.  
  
Then she remembered she was fighting a war.  
  
"Rogue Twelve is gone," Jaina called stiffly over the comm. She sent her X-wing into a dive, chasing after the last skip Xada had wanted. "Repeat, Rogue Twelve is gone. I'm going to need some cover here pretty soon, guys."  
  
Sparky's moan was mournful, and Jaina used the excuse of inertia to grunt. She didn't have time to grieve for her friend at the moment. There'd be time for that later. For now, she had to make the enemy pay.  
  
A swarm of blue blips clouded her aft sensor screen, and then Rogue X-wings and Spike clawcrafts were soaring past her canopy to challenge the enemy. Briefly, Jaina felt relief; she didn't have to handle this surprise all on her own. But she'd known she wouldn't. Space around her, already filled with fighters, came alive with friendly and unfriendly fire. Jaina saw coralskippers explode, and over the comm, heard the excited furball chatter.  
  
"I have your wing, Nine."  
  
"Lead, break port!"  
  
"I'm hit! I'm hit!"  
  
"Calm down, Six. What's your status?"  
  
Jaina didn't allow the noise of her comm to distract her from the task at hand. She had a coralskipper in her sights, and she was pouring stutterfire into its void. Somehow in her chase of this skip, she'd acquired a tail. Two Vong fighters. Their audacity was maddening. So was their competency.  
  
"Need some help, Rogue Eleven?"  
  
The voice was glib and patronizing. Jaina knew exactly to whom it belonged.  
  
"I thought you'd never ask, Spike Lead." Jaina bit off the curse that threatened, as the skip took a turn she hadn't expected. "Please."  
  
Jag's clawcraft swooped in from somewhere off to port, lasers blazing at the coralskippers on her stern. Jaina spared enough of her concentration to see that Jag's shots had hit. Her pursuers were no longer plural.  
  
"Thanks, Spike," she said, at the same time depressing the primary laser trigger, sending a powerful quad burst of energy at her target. The yorik coral of the fighter bubbled where the lasers hit, and the cockpit exploded. Jaina hauled back on her stick to loop her X-wing back toward the main fight.  
  
As Jag's fighter came back, firing doggedly at the remaining enemy fighter, he accepted her thanks.  
  
"Not a problem, Rogue Eleven. Always glad to be of service."  
  
In search of other targets, Jaina shook her head briefly. By now she was accustomed to Jag's cockiness in a dogfight.  
  
"Care to rejoin the fight?" she offered.  
  
Finished with his prey, Jag's clawcraft settled in near Jaina's. "I'm your wing."  
  
The orders Colonel Darklighter relayed to the Rogues came from the _Ralroost_ and made as much sense as any orders adapted for unexpected instances do. Admiral Kre'fey had abandoned his ambush plan entirely--it wasn't working, anyway. He sent the forces charged with that assignment toward the furball on the fringes of the Tynnani system, and gave the order for the refugee convoy to full-speed it out of the system. The Aces were ordered to escort the convoy, as were the frigates, gunships, and a single corvette. Their progress could be tracked via jump confirmation transmissions over the battle frequency.  
  
Colonel Darklighter, Colonel Fel, and the other commanders of the squadrons engaging the Vong directly gave out a more pertinent set of orders for their pilots to follow: take the fight to the fleet. Admiral Kre'fey wanted to meet the foe halfway.  
  
That suited Jaina a lot better than fighting on a battlefield the Vong had chosen. Here, the New Republic forces were without the aid of any big ships packing deadly punch. The skips were protected by their bigger warships, and the starfighters fended for themselves.  
  
Colonel Darklighter even had a strategy. "Run toward our ships," he said. "Make sure they follow you. Then just stop. Midway there at least, people. Get 'em in range of our big guns."  
  
And so they did. Other units followed Rogue Squadron's lead. The skips weren't so eager to follow. Only a few came within range of the Roost's or the Champ's guns, and only two of those perished.  
  
"They don't want us," Jaina said, the realization hitting her with an almost physical shock. "This was just--"  
  
"A ploy." Colonel Darklighter sounded grim as he finished Jaina's thought. She knew her commander was thinking the same thing she was. Casualties--Xada--and for what? "This was nothing," the colonel said. "A trick to trap us, reduce our numbers. The admiral thinks so, too. We're being ordered to fall back, Rogues. Your droids have the coordinates. Tynna was an exercise in diminishing tactics, but we saved the refugees."  
  
It seemed to Jaina as if Gavin was grasping for something, anything, to justify the deaths here.  
  
"The refugees," she murmured, and heard half a dozen echoes.  
  
In the distance, the big ships were turning, gathering speed and short-range fighters, taking only a few stray shots at the enemy. This defeat seemed to hurt more than the others and it wasn't even really a defeat. _Must be 'cause we were played,_ Jaina thought.  
  
"Cover retreat, Rogues. Wait until the fleet jumps, then we jump. Same as always." Colonel Darklighter hesitated, and then finally said, somberly, "We didn't lose today. We kept civilians alive. Just remember that--one for many."  
  
A chorus of comm clicks served as his only response.  


	8. Shattered Illusions

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Eight: Shattered Illusions  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.

  
  
The clicking of Jag's footfalls echoed ominously in the empty corridors as he made his way through them, his stride full of purpose and confidence he did not feel. He knew where he was going: to find Jaina. What he wasn't clear on was why.  
  
She wasn't the first fighter pilot to lose a wingmate, and she certainly wouldn't be the last. Xada wasn't even the first wingmate she'd lost. But the death of someone so close hit hard, and he knew by experience. Squadmates were family, if not by blood at least by choice. Jaina would be reacting to Xada's death in the same way she had reacted to Anni's death.  
  
Jag had never been very good at consoling a mourning woman, and he knew it. It was not a skill he'd perfected. When his mother had been so lost and grief-stricken at the deaths of his siblings, the responsibility of drying her tears and holding her had been his father's; Jag hadn't abandoned his mother, but he hadn't made himself as available as possible. It wasn't something he was proud of, and it wasn't something he quite understood, either.  
  
Perhaps that was why he came to a halt in front of the closed hatch. His hand hesitated over the panel; he was preparing to go in there and do what, precisely? He had no reference points for a situation like this. It wasn't something training had covered, and it wasn't something he'd thought he'd need, so he hadn't asked his father. He was following his gut, and his gut said that he needed to be in there with her. He knew that something between them had changed with that interlude in his room the week before, and he felt that not doing anything would do more damage to whatever it was they had than if he did something and did it wrong.  
  
Jag palmed the panel, and the hatch slid up to reveal a dark, almost lifeless pilots' lounge. The portable sabacc tables were gone, and the furniture was rearranged into familiar configuration. He saw Jaina's silhouette against the viewports. As he entered, the hatch slid shut behind him. She remained motionless.  
  
Slowly, Jag moved farther into the room, around the low couches and tables. In the silence, he was aware of the sound of his own breathing, and of the rustle of his flightsuit. He came around and could finally see her face clearly in the light provided by the dimmed glowpanels.  
  
Jaina looked tired, and he knew she'd been crying. Her gaze was unfocused beyond the bank of viewports before her and she was slumped in the low, square chair. She still wore her flightsuit, unsealed a few centimeters from her throat.  
  
The two young women had been close. Wingmates and bunkmates, and since Xada had joined the squadron, between them they'd tallied over twenty kills. Illusions were what kept fighter pilots coming back, Jag knew. Illusions that they and those around them were somehow invincible. Lieutenant Solo had lost two wingmates already. Her illusions were shattering.  
  
 _She's only sixteen,_ Jag remembered with a start. She was so young. _So am I._ He sank slowly to the edge of the forma-couch to her left, and rested his hands on his knees. He realized that he had no idea what to say or how to begin. Jaina hadn't even looked at him.  
  
"How are you, Jaina?" he ventured, his throat dry. Mentally, Jag congratulated himself. _Brilliant._  
  
She said nothing for so long that he thought she might not have heard him. Out the viewport, the fleet was suspended, immobile to the human eye, regrouping before making the next hyperspace jump. Running lights flared on the _Champion_ ; tiny, pale specks that were the patrolling starfighters were barely visible.  
  
"I'm fine, Colonel," she said at last. Jag jerked, and Jaina lazily turned her attention on him. "Don't worry about me and don't explain the rookie stuff to me." Her voice had a fatigued edge to it that Jag had heard from generals. Jaina met his gaze squarely, and in those eyes he saw resignation. "It's not right," she continued, "but there was nothing else I could have done for her. We both knew the risks involved in playing the game."  
  
"Yes," he agreed, for lack of anything more intelligent.  
  
"Pilots die," Jaina continued with a sigh. "They always have, and they always will. It's a fact. Xada knew that. But she accepted it, because there was something more important to her than her life. I can respect that, but it's not much consolation to a grieving mother."  
  
"No, it's not."  
  
Jaina didn't say anything immediately. She turned back to the viewport, and her eyes again went soft and unfocused. Her fingers curled on the arms of the chair. Jag was aware of the tension that crept through her.  
  
"After Ithor," Jaina began quietly, "Anni's mom contacted me. She told me she had some things of Anni's, if I ever got to Corellia, and I felt so guilty for not keeping Anni alive. I'll send my condolences to Xada's family, but the guilt will still be there, Jag. I wasn't good enough to keep her alive."  
  
Jag wanted to argue, but he couldn't find the words. 'You are good enough seemed weak,' and anything about the way of the Force was too mystical for his own liking. He kept quiet, even as she paused to give him time to answer, and resolved to listen to her speak.  
  
"There's just so much death." Jaina's voice was so hushed that he had to strain to hear her. "It doesn't end. I know why I volunteered, and I know why I'm here, but... They just keep coming, no matter what. We're not stopping them--we're more like a pebble in their boot. We're losing planets, systems, battles, and eventually, we're going to lose the war. I don't know what it's going to cost me, and, right now, I'm not sure the price is going to be worth it."  
  
"You can't say that--" he began.  
  
She turned on him quickly. "Can't I? That's what she was talking about, just before they came out on us. She had a bad feeling about Tynna. She felt it and I didn't. Told me we should be green as grass, and you know what? She was right. I'm still a kid, Jag. So are you. When this is all over and done with, where's my childhood? I never had one, you know. Like you, only mine wasn't a society thing. And now..." Jaina trailed off, and sighed heavily. "My aunt's sick, my father's Force knows where, my mother thinks she's fighting the Empire, I've got one brother who won't take action, and another who takes too much. The Jedi are on their way to being the sworn protectors of people who betray them. At every turn, someone I know or love is dead, and I'm not seeing a break in the pattern any time soon."  
  
Jag had seen this reaction before, and he knew he was right about her illusions shattering. She was dangerously close to losing faith. He knew her innocence was a lost cause; he felt an unfamiliar twinge at that. He pushed it away, opted to explore it later, if he had time.  
  
When he'd met her--weeks ago, it seemed at that moment like ages--he told her she wasn't grim enough. He held his tongue and studied her carefully. She was again near tears. Briefly, he wondered at his own reaction if she should break down into tears before him.  
  
"I don't know how you do it, Jag. People die around you. Doesn't it affect you?"  
  
"Yes," he answered. She waited for an explanation. "It does, but not in the same way. You know differently, Jaina. Where I grew up, there was nothing different. I've accepted it."  
  
"That's not right," she said.  
  
"It's not my place to say."  
  
For a moment, Jaina stared at him, mouth agape. "Not your place...?" she managed. Her jaw snapped shut with an audible click, and she shook her head. "How can you say that, Jag? It's not your place to determine what's right and wrong for you?"  
  
"It's not my place to determine right or wrong for the galaxy," he corrected. "I know what's right for me, and I know what isn't. Acceptance is the path I've chosen, Jaina, but maybe it isn't for you."  
  
"I can't go around in denial," she scoffed.  
  
Jag almost wanted to smile. "That's probably not healthy," he agreed.  
  
"I don't think I understand what you mean," she admitted.  
  
Jag was pleased to note the lack of tears in her eyes, and the recession of the flush that had plagued her face.  
  
"I fight because I don't know anything else," he clarified. "You fight because you've been threatened."  
  
"You've been threatened, too," she countered.  
  
Slowly, Jag shook his head. "No, I haven't. The Vong have made no move toward Chiss space."  
  
"Then why are you here?" she demanded.  
  
"Diplomatic relations?" he offered.  
  
After a dubious silence, Jaina started laughing.  
  
"I think this time, I'm grateful for the intervention of politics," she mused.  
  
As he watched, she straightened up, and even smiled slightly. Jaina reached to smooth her hair, and she again heaved a heavy sigh, but it was a sigh of relief. That strange shadow skimmed the edge of his mind again, but Jag was preoccupied with the strange warmth he felt, somewhere between his heart and his stomach. It wasn't physical, he knew that, but it was something...  
  
It came together in another flash of insight. The shadow wasn't so much a memory of a specific event as it was just a general memory of a feeling he hadn't experienced in too long. Jaina seemed to bring it back, and that warmth was... Something he didn't quite recognize, but it didn't feel wrong.  
  
 _Too much time on your feelings tonight, Colonel._ A small, wry smile twisted his lips. He knew exactly what Shawnkyr and the rest of his people would think about feelings.  
  
"I think I agree with you."  
  
Jaina peered at him curiously, and Jag wondered for a fleeting second if she could sense anything changed in him. He felt changed, he knew that.  
  
"Thank you, Jag," she said simply, and moved to rise.  
  
He stood quickly, and, belatedly, it occurred to him that it may have been a mistake to do so. She was close, easily within reach, and when she looked up at him, those brown eyes tugged at something in his chest.  
  
Jaina pressed her lips into a thin line. Her gaze flickered down and then back up. Vaguely, he questioned the temperature of the room.  
  
"You're welcome," he remembered to say, and Jaina nodded.  
  
She stepped away. The moment was broken, and he had the distinct impression that he'd lost his chance.  
  
"Are you going to bed now?" he asked, and repeated the question in his mind to be sure it had come out properly.  
  
"Yes," she said. He watched her roll her shoulders, and she tilted her head from side to side. He forced his gaze to remain on her face.  
  
"May I escort you?" He realized too late that the simple phrase could be misconceived as an inappropriate proposition. "To your quarters," he added hastily.  
  
Jaina's smile was something small. The word 'intimate' came to mind, but he banished it and the thoughts it brought instantly.  
  
"I'd like that."  
  
Half out of jest, Jag offered her his arm. For a moment, Jaina regarded him with an expression of slight puzzlement, but she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. He let out a breath, and started to lead her toward the hatch.  
  
Once in the corridor, she drew his attention again.  
  
"I mean it, Jag," she murmured, and looked up. "You didn't have to do this, tonight, but you did. I appreciate it."  
  
"I know you do," he returned, and directed them both into the turbolift. He pressed the appropriate button, and the doors slid shut. He turned to her. "And I mean it, too. You're welcome. Contrary to popular opinion, Solo, some of us do believe in going above and beyond the call of duty." He offered a cocky grin.  
  
Jaina narrowed her eyes. "I'll bet you even have a medal for it somewhere, don't you?"  
  
The blush rose unbidden from the neck of his flightsuit. "Yes," he admitted.  
  
"I thought so," she grumbled.  
  
How can someone can make a medal of honor seem like a bad thing?  


	9. Kalarba

Title: Touch and Go  
Chapter: Part Nine: Kalarba  
Author: bactaqueen  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
Disclaimer: "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it. An additional disclaimer must be issued for this chapter, too. The Kalarban battle as it is related appeared in Balance Point by Kathy Tyers. Again, no money is being made, and no infringement is intended.

 

It was three days after the engagement at Tynna, and once again Jaina was strapped into the confines of her X-wing cockpit. The snubfighter was powered up, and Sparky was running a one-minute-to-realspace countdown on the text screen mounted into the main panel just past her flightstick.

She and the rest of the fighters in Group One were oriented toward the bay doors. Around the ships, the docking bay was alive with commotion, as mechanics hurried to complete last-minute maintenance jobs. Jaina could feel apprehension bleeding from the personnel on the 'Roost. Apprehension that stemmed not only from this jump--some people just didn't do well in space travel--but from the mission.

She didn't feel the lurch as Admiral Kre'fey's flagship dropped out of hyperspace into an empty sector of space very near the Kalarba system. Sparky's text update confirmed that the other ships in the fleet had also jumped successfully. Jaina allowed only slight relief at that.

The magnetic containment field was activated and the belly bay doors opened up. Before the Ralroost's doors had even finished opening, the calm, mechanically-altered voice sounded in Jaina's ear.

"Group One, launch."

Some fighters had already begun moving toward the magcon as it glittered with the tiny impacts of space dust. But as the order came, four squadrons of starfighters and two armored shuttles kicked to life, and fifty ships spilled out of the docking bay. Weapons and shields went green immediately, although the X-wings didn't lock S-foils in attack position.

Unchallenged but wary, Group One put distance between themselves and Admiral Kre'fey's fleet. Two of the frigate analogs peeled away from their escort duties to follow the first insertion teams. They would provide cover and support for the starfighters, who would provide cover and armed escort for the two, five-person search-and-destroy teams.

This time the atmospheric flying wouldn't be in just a sim. The first leg of the mission plan called for Rogue and Ace squadrons to escort the search teams all the way to the planet. After that, the battle plan was as it comes. Intel was sketchy, so there was no definite set of orders from brass. It was the worst kind of situation Jaina could imagine.

Tynna had been more than an effort to reduce the numbers of the New Republic forces. It had been a deliberate diversionary tactic, a distraction. And it had worked.

The layover between jump points hadn't been a mistake on the part of the Yuuzhan Vong commander. Shedao Shai had sent his less experienced captains and pilots to follow Admiral Kre'fey and his refugees to Tynna and had taken his more experienced officers and warriors straight to Kalarba. They'd then deposited the dovin basal on the planet, and proceeded to bombard Hosk from orbit.

Calls for help from refugees being pursued in the system had reached Admiral Kre'fey, and the Bothan officer had instantly mobilized his forces. He sent his refugees toward Duro and the SELCORE settlements there, with a small but heavily armed escort detail.

They hadn't even had time to collect all of the remains of their own people. Jaina knew that there was nothing left of Xada or her ship to salvage; she'd seen the explosion. That hadn't been able to keep her from hoping.

Sparky's blat startled Jaina, and the pilot looked at the screen to find that she had a message being routed through the astromech onto a private frequency. She frowned, and wondered why Colonel Darklighter or Captain ke Dissae wouldn't just use a squadron frequency.

She got her answer as soon as she thumbed the indicated channel open.

"Lieutenant," he said.

Jaina's frown didn't disappear as she glanced up and to her right, focusing in the distance on the Chiss clawcraft there. She accused mildly, "You sliced into Sparky's comm program."

"It isn't a capital offense," Colonel Fel defended, and added with a hint of wry amusement, "Are you going to tell?"

"And who would I tell?" she countered, still puzzled.

"I expected so. Jaina--" Jag hesitated, uncertain, it seemed, and Jaina felt her spine stiffen. After a burst of static, he finished, "I wanted to tell you to be careful out there today."

The colonel was concerned. Jaina's lips twisted in a devious half-grin. Maybe he was anticipating her again. "I'm always careful," she said.

Jag then did something that reminded Jaina a great deal of her father. In a gruff tone, he reiterated, "Just watch your back, Lieutenant," and abruptly cut the connection.

Sparky beeped a curious question.

"I'm not sure," Jaina answered, and switched back to squadron frequency. "But he can be fun, can't he?"

Colonel Darklighter was speaking, and considering the information displaying on her HUD, Jaina assumed he'd only just begun. Which was another reason Jag may have cut their little chat short.

"...should come out fairly close to the planet. Cover the shuttles and your wingmate. When the shuttles reach the ground, we're coming back up, and we're going to cover the refugees fleeing the system. We're also going to direct them toward Duro. Your droids have the coordinates from the jump points if the evacuating ships don't have them. Remember, stay with your wing. It's going to be a mess, people, so keep your heads straight and don't go looking for trouble."

A flurry of comm clicks acknowledged the colonel's orders.

He continued. "We won't have time for this later, so choose your targets, fire at will, and may the Force be with us all."

The jump tone sounded then, and Jaina pulled back on the lever to engage the hyperdrive. The stars elongated, spun, and coalesced into a tunnel of white light. And a growing feeling of dread had time to settle into her stomach.

Jaina didn't make the reversion to realspace manually; her hyperdrive's sensors pulled her out close to the planet, and nearly through an armed freighter apparently carrying a load of refugees. The rest of Group One didn't stray much further. One of the Chiss clawcraft reverted right in the path of the freighter's guns, and since the IF/F hadn't had time to tag the freighter on Jaina's heads-up, she knew that Shawnkyr's fighter certainly didn't register with the freighter captain.

The freighter opened fire even as Gavin broadcast a "Don't shoot!" message on an open channel.

Shawnkyr Nuruodo's ship sideslipped, easily avoiding the blast of laserfire.

"Rogue Squadron?" came the query from the freighter captain. Jaina heard a slightly muffled "Cease fire!" as he called back to his gunners.

"In the flesh, Captain Frevin."

What Jaina expected to hear, as she nudged her ship around the freighter and toward the shuttle she was supposed to be protecting, was some gasped exclamation of surprise or delight or relief.

"Are you all completely out of your minds?" the captain demanded.

Gavin Darklighter laughed. "We're the Rogues, not the Wraiths, Captain. Now, if you'll let me, I'll send a flight of my X-wings to escort you to the jump point you're looking for. How does that sound?"

"Thanks, Rogue Leader."

"Anytime."

Gavin gave the order, and Two Flight moved off in a formation they'd learned from Colonel Fel and his squadron. The four Rogue X-wings curved around the refugee ship, keeping clear of its turret blaster cannons, and swept off in the direction of the outbound jump point. Their path was a dangerous one, crisscrossed with the ships fleeing Kalarba and Hosk.

Jaina hoped Two Flight would be enough to keep the refugees safe. And she hoped that the eight fighters remaining would be enough to protect the shuttle they were assigned.

As short-range fighters flowed from the the docking bays of the big warships of Kre'fey's group and the first shots between mismatched foes were fired through vacuum, Lieutenant Jaina Solo knew that this was going to be one hell of a slugfest.

***

Jaina rolled her X-wing up on its port S-foil and throttled forward. A seed-shaped Vong fighter had been harassing Rogue Ten. As Jaina got it in her sights, it went evasive, and a miniscule black hole appeared just behind it. The void accepted every shot Jaina fired into it.

She matched her speed to the skip's and pursued. This battle had been raging for nine hours, non stop, and the fatigue was starting to get to Jaina. As she stuttered her fire, squeezing her right middle finger on the secondary trigger, she had to reflect. There was just too much death. That was her decision, and it had more to do than just with Anni and Xada. They were losing pilots left and right, and there didn't seem to be any way to stop it.

When I told Jag I wasn't sure it'd be worth it, I wasn't just venting.

The skip she was chasing swooped toward the Champion, as it flew cover for yet another refugee convoy. In the hours since the battle had begun, someone on one of the New Republic's big ships had managed to coordinate the evacuation effort. It made Jaina's job a lot easier.

Hosk already wobbled in its orbit. The search teams on Kalarba that Jaina had helped to escort had found nothing, and had therefore destroyed nothing. They were going to lose this system, too. It was all hauntingly similar to the descriptions Anakin had given of Sernpidal's last hours. To the Kalarbans and the rest of the New Republic, there would be even greater losses here than at Sernpidal.

But on a more personal note, Jaina wasn't sure the devastation caused by Chewie's death would ever be matched. Not by the deaths of her wingmates, not by the deaths of these innocents, even though she did feel something powerful for them all.

She knew fighting the enemy wouldn't bring Chewbacca back. Nor would it bring back Anni, or Xada, or Elegos. But it made her feel better; it eased some of the bitterness inside to know that someone, somewhere, wouldn't have to suffer like she did, if she could just stop one more Yuuzhan Vong.

Her forward sensor screen suddenly showed the little back hole projected by the dovin basal draw back a little closer to the ship it protected. And on her primary screen, a clawcraft swooped in from behind.

"Covering you, Rogue Eleven," Jag said. Jaina merely nodded her thanks. She trusted Jag to have her back, and didn't waste any time wondering where Dizzy was.

She tightened her index finger on the main trigger, loosing a solid burst from all four of her lasers. The skip's gravity well bent her laser blast, but she'd shot high to compensate. The tactics were nothing new; the same ones they'd been using since the beginning, the same ones they practiced in the sims. The only effective ones.

The other two shots hit exactly where she'd been aiming. Crystal shards that were the skip's cockpit canopy and hot gravel that had been the cockpit's hull blasted off, sending the fighter into a slow spiral out of the firefight.

"You're clean, Ten," Jaina exclaimed.

"Thanks, Sticks."

"Anytime."

Jaina hauled her stick to the right and felt her heart sink. "Rogues, more skips coming in at 349 mark 18. They're headed for Champ's drive nacelles."

"Copy that. Time to make coral dust. Eleven, Twelve." On me. Jaina heard the edge in Major Varth's voice.

She double-clicked her comm to acknowledge the order, then pushed her throttle forward. She inverted the X-wing and followed Rogue Nine over Champion's ventral surface. She was flying so close that she could make out the deatails on the ships hull; she even had to sideslip to avoid a sensor dish.

The commander of the Champion was only a Brevet Admiral. Glie'oleg Kru was a Twi'lek, and newly promoted. Since the war had begun and the New Republic was losing ships and officers to the enemy at an unnerving pace, she'd heard of a freshly promoted captain or admiral at nearly every engagement.

Sparky displayed the message from the fleet that said another convoy of Kalarban refugee ships had jumped. Many of the ships contained fleeing inhabitants of Hosk station. Kalarba's moon was losing altitude with each orbit. Its defense fighters hadn't survived the first hour of battle, and since, all ten of its turbolasers had been disabled. In a cruel and fatal game of tag, enemy vessels pursued the industrialized moon. The living ships the Vong employed seemed to gobble up any ships that lagged behind the convoy. In the hours since they'd been in system, the New Republic fighters had watched Hosk's polar cluster of towers skew more than thirty degrees from its normal orientation. Soon Kalarba would be just another dead world.

Jaina rounded Champion's starboard fighter docking bays into a blazing free-for-all. Three coralskippers jumped her, and she found herself the target of brilliantly flashing plasma bolts. Adrenaline surged through her as she began evasive maneuvers, jinking and juking in all directions without thinking, merely feeling. When one of the skips passed before her, Jaina let loose a stream of mostly ineffective terror of her own.

"Sparky, I need one hundred percent shields at thirteen meters."

Letters flashed on her heads-up-display as the R5 unit announced his compliance. White noise filled her headset for a moment, and the dovin basal of one skip grabbed for her shields.

She became aware of a new enemy, vectoring in low and to port. Jaina shoved her stick over and feathered her rudder, chasing after it.

As her torp brackets went red with a lock, she allowed herself a triumphant grin. Jaina thumbed off a proton torpedo. She watched the blue ion tail streak toward its target as she kept up a steady stream of weak fire. You aren't the only ones who know how to distract--

Jaina heard Dizzy's voice in her ear. "Eleven! Break starboard!"

Swearing mentally, Jaina broke, goosing her engines and straining against her flight harness. Her X-wing shuddered, and Jaina felt a moment of icy fear.

"I'm hit!" she cried, and gripped the stick too hard. Forcing herself to relax, she studied her primary diagnostics board, and then Sparky's readout. "Still got shields, though." She feathered stick and rudder, bringing the X-wing about. "And maneuvering."

But now she was mad. Ahead, enemy skips swarmed Champion and the starfighters defending it. She spotted the fighter that had to be the one that had just scored her S-foils.

With a growl, she rammed her throttle forward.

Now she saw the big ship astern of Champion, and she recognized it for what it was. The same kind of ship from Gyndine, just smaller than a Star Destroyer and bristling with weapons and spindly-looking arms. It reminded Jaina of some bizarre water animal from a marine world. From the ventral arms, blinding plasma was already pouring out at Champion.

Eight E-wings from the Yellow Suns Squadron off the 'Roost swung in to harass the new arrival. No longer distracted by the oversized enemy, Jaina squeezed her stutter trigger and poured fire into the void off her quarry's tail.

"Rogues!" Colonel Darklighter's cry caught Jaina off guard. "Somebody just sucked Champ's shields! Get clear!"

What'd they do, bring in another one? Jaina abandoned her skip and wrenched her stick to the side. As she looped around, she punched for full speed away from the cruiser.

She was passing the Champ's port nacelle when light broke through from deep inside. Slowly, with an eerie beauty, a seam opened on the ship's glossy side.

Dizzy's voice rang too loudly. "Sticks!" Then, "Eleven, get clear!"

With a realization that soured her mouth, Jaina started to call an instruction to her droid. "Full power, Sparky! Go--"

She wasn't fast enough. With the blast, she was flung like a rag doll against the instrument panel. The flightstick dug deep into her sternum, and rudder pedals seemed to blossom like metal plants up through her legs. The sides of her cockpit buckled, and then were no more, disintegrated in the heat. The siren she was familiar with from simulations blared rhythmically, and a synthesized voice kept repeating what she had time to wish things were simple enough for.

"Ejection. Ejection."

Desperate, Jaina flailed into the Force, reaching for something, anything, to keep her from drowning in all the pain...


	10. Touch and Go

**Title:** Touch and Go  
 **Chapter:** Part Ten: Touch and Go  
 **Author:** bactaqueen  
 **Rating:** PG  
 **Summary:** Space battles, pilot banter, and pre-romance interaction. After Ithor, Rogue Squadron was deployed to the warfront in the company of Spike Squadron. What happened between Jaina Solo and Jag Fel?  
 **Disclaimer:** "Star Wars" is copyright George Lucas and Lucasfilm, LTD. Jagged Fel is copyright Michael A. Stackpole. No profit is being made from this writing. It is purely for entertainment. As his own people put it, the sandbox belongs to Mr. Lucas. I'm just playing in it.

  
  
It was dark. A steady beeping filled her mind, and seemed to ring in her ears. In fact, her ears were ringing even without the beeping. Jaina drifted from consciousness to semi-consciousness, and very slowly probed herself and her surroundings.  
  
The clean, sterile scent of the medical bay assaulted her nose. Even with the unpleasant harshness of it, it was nice to be smelling something again. It was pretty nice to be able to breathe without the aid of a plastic tube shoved up her nose and down her throat.  
  
Jaina could feel the cool sheet against her legs, and that was a nice sensation, too. The searing pain was gone now, replaced with a dull, throbbing ache. She felt it everywhere, from her toes to the roots of her hair, but the young Jedi woman couldn't bring herself to complain about the pain.  
  
She still had an entire body. The minor inconveniences could wait until she wasn't so grateful for that.  
  
But even if she opened her eyes, it was still dark. She could feel the dim lighting on her face, but she couldn't see anything.  
  
Jaina sighed. The damage wasn't permanent--the medic had made sure she understood that much. Even if her eyes had been damaged beyond repair, there were things like prosthetics and retinal replacements that could replace them. But she'd been too close to the _Champion_ when it blew. Wryly, Jaina thought that this ought to teach her to stay away from fleet ships during furballs.  
  
As if in punishment to her finding humor in her situation, a lance of sudden, sharp pain stabbed through her legs. Jaina wanted to cry out. She lay still for long moments, until the agony subsided, and then she let out a deep breath.  
  
She was mad. Forget what Uncle Luke said about anger. At the moment, she wasn't feeling very much like a serene Jedi Knight. _There is no pain my..._ A pilot needed to be able to see to fly, and Jaina was a pilot. She was effectively out of rotation for now, and she had to wonder just what they were going to do with her.  
  
Jaina managed to get herself into a sitting position without further injury or mind-blowing agony, and even managed to relax back into the thick pillow behind her. Her eyes were useless; she closed them. Now was not the time to pity herself. Now was the time to heal.  
  
Her stomach began making rude noises, and Jaina's mouth twisted into a bitter grin. If it was doing that, it meant she could eat, and if she could eat, she was doing far better than she felt.  
  
No nurses or medics came to feed her, and in any case, Jaina found she was getting tired. Less desperate this time, she reached out and touched the Force. She had a moment to wish Jacen were with her. He was better at this than she was; better at bonding in and trances. _He's so blind to the outside, no wonder he's so good with everything inside._  
  
Something tugged at Jaina's insides, and the young woman was suddenly homesick. Not for any place in particular, but for her twin and his presence. Despite Jacen's strange, passive path to maturity, she loved and missed him.  
  
She reached for him subtly, and found him. Worried. Absently, Jaina smiled. Something was right in her world again; Jacen was always worried. She sent him the thought that she'd be fine, and then she withdrew. She didn't want to compromise him, didn't want to make him feel guilty. Jaina wasn't in a terribly cruel mood at the moment.  
  
Now she knew that Jacen was okay and worried about her, the ache in her soul was lessened. She gave herself up to the Force, let it envelop her and flow through her, touching her wounds and the weak places in her body, cooling the heat behind her eyes, and taking her away from consciousness once more.  
  
Jaina Solo was so lost in her healing trance that she didn't notice when the lights dimmed to mimic Coruscant night, or when the night shift replaced the day shift. She didn't notice when the medic came to take her vitals or switch monitoring machines on her. And she certainly didn't notice when the tall shadow slipped into her room and slid into a chair near her bed to sit there, simply staring.  
  
The Force rippled around her, and Jaina knew that it wasn't from her own injuries or use. She knew exactly who those ripples belonged to, and found that she had mixed feelings about his presence. She knew she didn't want him to see her like this. But she also felt as if she were somehow stronger with him there.  
  
Jaina reached to run a hand through her short, thick brown hair. She'd had it cut recently, because it was getting too long to fit under a helmet comfortably. If she was honest with herself, the healing trance had done its job well. Now she only felt any pain when she moved too rapidly. She was ready to get out of med bay, back to her own quarters, and hop into the shower.  
  
"I can't see you," Jaina told him, bluntly. She wasn't feeling very hospitable. She heard the rustle of fabric, and felt the Force ripples move. Jaina could only assume he was standing, coming closer.  
  
"I know. They told me. How do you feel?"  
  
Jaina pretended to think about that. "Like my ship went to pieces around me and I spent time in hard vacuum. How the hell are you?"  
  
She could feel his searching gaze on her face, and self-consciously wondered just how bad she looked. There was a niggling little pessimist in the back of her mind, one who taunted her unmercifully, even now. _Like he cares how you look. He's just here to follow up, make you feel better about confiding in him. Honorable and upright type he is._ Even as she thought that, she knew it wasn't right.  
  
Jaina became aware of Jag's smile as a rare and tangible thing in the air, and she wished she could have her eyesight back. She'd never seen him truly smile.  
  
"You got four more kills, Lieutenant."  
  
"No ship to paint them on, Colonel," she retorted. The bitterness was back.  
  
Jag had nothing to say to that; what did you say to an angry young woman who was hurting in more ways than even she knew? The silence between them was long, and punctuated by a less frequent beeping than Jaina remembered from the night before. She could only assume that someone had transferred her monitoring to another computer, and could hope that it meant she was getting better.  
  
After long enough, she broke the silence. "Why are you here, Jag? Really?" she asked softly. She had her reasons for wanting him to be in her room, and not all were ones she understood.  
  
"I had to see that you were going to be all right," he answered, after one extra beat, but truthfully. She could sense the uncertainty in him, could sense that he was holding something back. Like what he wanted to say was just on the tip of his tongue. Only he was unsure of how to say it.  
  
"I'm alive," she began. "They managed to weld me back together, and apparently, since I'm young and a Jedi, I'm not going to suffer any major permanent damage. Is that what you mean?" Jaina heard the concealed venom in her own voice and wanted to wince. She wasn't trying to be disagreeable on purpose. _Maybe I'm angrier than I thought._ It didn't seem quite worth it to be anything else.  
  
Jag made a noise, something like the beginning of a word, but he cut himself off. She heard him take a deep breath--the kind people take when they aren't real sure of themselves--and heard another rustle of flightsuit. His presence was closer, and she knew that if she reached out, he'd be right there.  
  
"You scared me, Jaina," he started, his voice low. "You were so close to the _Champion_ when it blew, and your ship wasn't there when the light cleared. You weren't responding on the comm, and Colonel Darklighter thought he'd lost you. I don't like fear."  
  
"Nobody likes being scared, Jag," she told him, curiously reserved. He'd been afraid for her. Jaina did reach out, then, and found his hand. His grasp was warm and solid, and she felt something tight loosen within her. "I'm sorry."  
  
"Unless you ignored a direct order, you have nothing to apologize for." Jag paused, and asked, "Did you disobey an order?"  
  
If he had been anyone else, Jaina would have known he was trying to lighten the mood. But this image of Jagged Fel didn't fit with the one she knew. Uncertainty led her to shake her head dumbly.  
  
"I'm glad. Otherwise, I'd have to bring it to the attentions of your superiors and recommend a court-martial."  
  
Jaina would have gaped. Now she knew there was something wrong with Jag. Or that he'd been replaced by someone else who just sounded and felt like him. She said nothing, and he continued, switching tones on her once more.  
  
"I brought you in, Jaina. I couldn't get to your droid. I'm sorry."  
  
Jaina didn't say anything. There was genuine apology in his voice and in his demeanor. She was touched; though he didn't have to fly with one, he apparently understood that the droids adopted personalities, became companions. The loss of Sparky hurt--there was no use denying that--but she was glad to be alive.  
  
"Droids can be replaced, Jag. I'm grateful you came for me instead. Otherwise, you'd be having this conversation in the mechanic's office." She quirked a small smile, for his benefit more than for her own. She just felt so weary, so heavy. "Thanks for saving me. And thanks for taking care of that skip on my tail."  
  
"We are simply the best fighter squadron in the galaxy," she heard him murmur. "Here to take care of the second best."  
  
Jaina's first reflex was to roll her eyes. Her second was to squeeze his hand. "And here I considered you the quiet, mannerly type." She sighed loudly, exaggerated. "Pilots."  
  
Any retort Jag would have made was killed as they were interrupted by the on-shift nurse. Jaina's medication needed to be changed, and her vitals needed to be taken. She heard the humanoid attendant bustle in. Jag dropped her hand.  
  
"Do I need to leave?" he asked, respecting her privacy.  
  
"Not if she doesn't want you to," came the reply, a woman's voice, young and accented.  
  
"Jaina?"  
  
"No. Stay." If he left, she wasn't sure he'd be back.  
  
The silence that followed wasn't comfortable. Jaina felt Jag move away from the bed, to be out of the way as the attendant crimped the drip-feed steroid and replaced it with a nutrient. The woman hummed softly as she worked, and Jaina could hear her scribbling on a datapad.  
  
"You're doing fine, Lieutenant. You'll be out of here in no time."  
  
"That's good to hear," Jaina said, disinterested.  
  
"By the way, heard you managed four kills before the _Champ_ blew. Congratulations. Do you Rogues ever stop?"  
  
"They don't, ma'am. They all seem to be bred to kill."  
  
Jaina suspected she was imagining the dry humor in Jag's words.  
  
"And yourself, Colonel! We're so glad to have you. If the updates are correct, you got six."  
  
"I did."  
  
The attendant let out a long, low whistle. "Amazing that the Vong are still in this war, isn't it? Well, I'm finished here. Don't go anywhere, Lieutenant. The doctor's going to be in to see you in a few hours. He signs off, you're free."  
  
"Great," Jaina muttered. She heard the shuffling of boots and the murmur of cloth as the attendant left. There was no mistaking the sound of the hatch closing, and she was once again alone with Jag in a room she couldn't see, self-conscious and more than a little resentful.  
  
She didn't have anything to say. Even if she had, she wouldn't have known how to say it.  
  
Jag spoke. "We're leaving, Jaina." His voice was low.  
  
Jaina settled back into her pillow and tried hard not to snort. "Well, I didn't expect the fleet to stick around." Not with the enemy cutting through the Corellian Run, threatening to take the Core. Not with Rodia and Druckenwell on alert.  
  
"I don't mean the group." Again, Jag moved, and rather than hear, Jaina could feel him come closer. "My father has recalled us."  
  
"Oh," was all she said, as the implications hit her. Jag would be gone.  
  
And with this war, she may never see him again.  
  
"I wish we could stay," he offered in something close to a whisper.  
  
Resolutely, Jaina stiffened. "You wish you could stay for the wrong reasons, Colonel," she said, her voice hard. She was assuming a lot and she knew it. "You are the best, and if General Fel says he needs you back, you need to go back. Besides," Jaina added darkly, "I'm not going to see any action anytime soon."  
  
"No," Jag agreed.  
  
For long moments, the air was still. Jag was guarding himself again, and though he held her hand, she couldn't get a read on him. Jaina had a sudden, inexplicable impulse to cry, but she dammed the tears. She was already weak enough in front of him.  
  
"When do you leave?" she asked quietly.  
  
"The fleet will drop out of hyperspace in ten hours. We leave then."  
  
"That's really short notice, Jag."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry."  
  
"Oh, it's not your fault. I'm sure you'd have told me sooner if I hadn't been bobbing in bacta for the last three days." Jaina paused. "It would have been easier for you not to tell me," she pointed out.  
  
Jag's harsh laugh startled Jaina. "Easier for who, Jaina Solo? Not for me, certainly." The colonel stepped closer and reached for her hand. "The guilt would have killed me."  
  
Jaina smiled faintly. "That'd be good. 'Colonel Jagged Fel, Spike squadron commander, superior fighter pilot, certified ace, master strategist and all-around overachiever, found dead by guilt.'" Jaina actually chuckled, and was rewarded with the sound of Jag's laughter joining hers.  
  
"My sister would love that necrology."  
  
"I'm sure she would."  
  
Then Jag did something that surprised Jaina far more than his laughter or dry humor. He leaned in so close she could smell his aftershave and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.  
  
Jaina sucked in a breath, feeling the tears at the disturbing final quality of the moment. "Is this it, Colonel? Just touch and go?"  
  
She felt his resolve strengthen as he moved away from her. Jag was no longer smiling. "For now, yes, it is. But I always land, Lieutenant."


End file.
